


The Warrior Prince

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Complete, Fae & Fairies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Morgana was dead. Her body, once terrible in its beauty and power, lay gutted and lifeless on the bloody battlefield, the prince who had slain her standing triumphantly over her remains. He was speaking, but Emrys barely heard him. Magic still crackled around him, off the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair. He alone remained standing, untouched by mortal steel or iron, uninjured. He had a clear shot to the prince, but his life would be forfeit if he tried. “Anybody who yields will not be killed,” the prince announced. “Quarter will be offered to anybody who swears fealty to the crown and agrees to abide by its laws.”





	1. Chapter 1

Morgana was dead. Her body, once terrible in its beauty and power, lay gutted and lifeless on the bloody battlefield, the prince who had slain her standing triumphantly over her remains. He was speaking, but Emrys barely heard him. Magic still crackled around him, off the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair. The fey were tattered, broken, their magic meaningless without their queen, their goddess, their leader. Emrys alone remained standing, untouched by mortal steel or iron, uninjured. He had a clear shot to the prince, but his life would be forfeit if he tried. The human army was too great, and their fury would only be heightened if he stole their prince.

Twelve other fey formed a circle around Morgana, each burdened with iron chains. Handfuls of salt had been thrown over them, burning their mortal forms, and heaps of it circled their feet. Salt and iron wasn’t enough to stop him, but Emrys didn’t want to reveal that particular fact. Not until he understood more fully what was happening. They had fought for five days, both sides ceding ground only to regain it the next day. Every inch counted in the struggle, and Emrys had never believed the fey would lose their toehold on the mortal realm. On the final day, the sun had refused to show itself at all.

Until the prince cut down the mighty Morgana.

“Anybody who yields will not be killed,” the prince announced. “Quarter will be offered to anybody who swears fealty to the crown and agrees to abide by its laws.”

“ _ Human _ laws,” Sibley hissed. “The fey will never bow to a human.”

The prince wasn’t perturbed by the outburst.

“Anybody who refuses to swear an oath to me will be executed.” He leveled his sword, pointing it at Sibley. She stood straighter, her chin held high, no hint of defeat on her proud features. Once, the starlight itself streamed from her eyes to light the world. Once, the prince would have been cowering in front of her, nothing more than vermin in the face of her power. “Do you yield?”

The question itself was a grave insult, made worse by the way the prince stood with one foot on Morgana’s desecrated body. Iron chains had been laid out over her legs and shoulders, unnecessarily. Her hair had been the pure color of dawn, but now it was matted with dark, almost black, blood. The prince glowed above her, his golden hair kissed by the sun, his armor gleaming and mostly undamaged. How had he survived the battle unscathed? He must have had his own magic. Perhaps a witch or a sorcerer stood on his side. Perhaps more than one. Of course, the prince had superior numbers. How had he convinced so many to follow him into battle against the fey? What new secret had he used? So many had lived in fear for so many generations that they often refused to take up arms against the fey, choosing instead to offer fearful sacrifices.

Sibley took a step forward, and only Emrys could see the way her long legs trembled. “I do not.”

“Do you yield?” the prince asked in a perfectly imperial voice. “I will not ask again.”

“Ask me until the end of time. My answer will not change.”

“Then I am sorry.”

The knight behind her acted quickly, driving his sword through her back until the point came through her chest, blood dripping from the end. Sibley didn’t cry out. She didn’t make a sound, and Emrys did not look away until she dropped to her knees and slumped forward. For a brief, shimmering second, it looked as though she was offering the prince the supplication he’d demanded. Then she fell to her face and the earth shook beneath her. The field remained silent for a beat, and then the prince directed his attention to Banehorse.

“Do you yield?”

“You have slaughtered our queen. What more would you ask of us?”

“Your loyalty. I want nothing else from you.”

“It’s not mine to give.” Banehorse gestured at Morgana. “I have sworn it to her for eternity.”

“She’s dead now.”

“I will never swear an oath to another.”

The knight behind Banehorse cleaved his head from his body with a smooth swing of his arm. Blue light erupted from Banehorse’s neck, and the humans shouted, moving back. All but the prince, who loomed over Morgana’s body without wavering. The blue light created a tower to the sky, stretching into the heavens as Banehorse’s power returned to the elements. He had been old. Older than Emrys. Maybe even as old as Morgana, and he’d been good. A tree sprout sprung up each place a drop of his blood touched the earth.

The prince did not look pleased with this development. Had he truly believed the fey would ever honor a mortal? He must have, else why would he have even give them a chance to surrender? Morgana had been making war against the mortal realm since before time was recorded, amused by the way they cowered before her, offering everything they had to appease her for one more year. She had happily stolen the last drops of milk from a child’s cup, and then done far worse, serving only her capricious whims. A mortal lifespan was so short, and she saw no harm in making it yet shorter. How could her followers ever respect the vermin she destroyed without thought?

Movement on the other side of the field caught Emrys’s attention. A pair of blue eyes peered at him from a tiny, round face, and the fear on the child’s face was genuine and oddly brave. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near there. Emrys’s gaze slid sideways to Morgana. She’d brought them both there, and now they were condemned by her death. He thought he could send Mordred away before any of the knights made their move, but where would he send the boy to? Who would look after him?

“Do you all seek death? Do you all wish to die by the sword?” He held his arms out and spun in a slow circle as he spoke, addressing all the remaining fey. “You are supposed to be great and wise. We have feared you for a millennium. Yet you don’t have the wisdom to know when you are  _ beaten _ ?”

A bird chattered in response, and on the edge of the great circle that formed around the two rival leaders, a horse stamped its hoof. Emrys still felt the magic swirling around him, growing stronger now that he had a chance to rest. He was certain he could cut the prince down and allow the blood of such a great man to mingle with Morgana’s. Perhaps that would be enough to call her power back from the elements. But the victory would be meaningless now, since the war was already lost. Something stirred inside of him at the thought of the prince’s blood gushing freely, baptizing the goddess at his feet, but Emrys ignored it.

“Very well. Since you refuse to be reasonable, I will make it easy for you.” He made a brief gesture with his hand, and every knight lining the circle stepped forward. Emrys felt the pressure of the sharp tip between his shoulder blades. “Anybody who wishes to live may step forward now to swear your oath. Otherwise, you’ll be left on the field with your fallen brothers.”

Emrys’s gaze darted from face to face. Nobody moved. Nobody even looked frightened. They all wore the same stubborn, prideful expression. The one that had been on Sibley’s face the instant before she died. Each one was a favorite of Morgana’s. Each one a ruler in the fey realm. The loss of those lives would be incalculable. Yet, none of them raised their hand in defense. Perhaps they had reached the same conclusion Emrys had. Or perhaps they had nothing left to offer. Magic wasn’t infinite, even for the very old and the very powerful. Except for Morgana. And her son. But that powerful magic hadn’t been enough to save her life in the mortal realm, where the rules were different and their bodies were forced to take on the limitations of flesh and blood.

“Then it is settled. Knights…”

“I’ll swear my loyalty,” Emrys said, stepping forward and kicking through the salt. “My lord.”

The prince spun around, the full power of his gaze slamming into Emrys. He’d never seen eyes so green, and the glow he’d noticed earlier seemed to be emanating from their depths. Did this one have magic in him? Is that how such great and terrible deeds were possible? Emrys hated that he had more questions than answers, but the situation was strangely intriguing. He could not remember the last time he’d been genuinely curious, genuinely perplexed, by anything.

“What’s your name, old one?”

“Emrys, sire.”

“Why do you swear an oath when your brothers remain silent?”

“They have already pledged their fealty to Morgana, sire. They cannot pledge it to you.”

“But her death breaks those bonds.”

“No, sire. Those bonds are eternal.”

“But they aren’t eternal for you?” The prince demanded.  _ Do you have no sense of loyalty _ ?

“No, sire. I swore no oath to Morgana.” Their connection ran far deeper than any oath. “I may yield to you.”

“Yet you fought beside her, old one. How do you explain that?”

Emrys was sure the explanation would do nothing to protect his life. But he could offer something close to the truth. “She compelled me to fight, sire.”

“How?”

Emrys took a deep breath and gestured at a small child one of the knights held by the shoulders. “She threatened my son, sire.”

The prince’s eyes widened. “That boy is your child?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s human.” The prince frowned. “He’s your prisoner.”

“His mother is human. But he is my son, and it’s for his sake that I pledge my existence to you.”

Emrys tensed as the prince stalked over to the boy, his sword still gripped tightly in his hand. He would have moved the earth itself to put himself between the human and his child, but if this was a test, he dared not fail.

“What is your name, child?”

“Mordred.”

“Mordred, is your father on this battlefield?”

“Yes.”

The prince nodded at his man, who instantly released the young boy. “Go to him.”

Mordred began running before the prince finished speaking, sprinting like a young deer past the bloody bodies. He threw himself into Emrys’s arms, holding him like he never intended to let him go. Emrys closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the boy’s hair and skin, which was a sweet combination of clover and the wind. But now there was a darker undercurrent. Blood and death. He would never be washed clean. He would always carry the taint of having been on that battlefield, of having watched the death of a legend.

When Emrys looked up, the prince was standing over him, blocking the sun. He wasn’t a child, but he wasn’t quite a full grown man. How had this slight thing, this boy just on the cusp of his true power, accomplished so much? How? Emrys longed to discover the answer.

“It appears you were not lying, old one.”

“No, sire.”

His thoughtful frown deepened. Emrys could barely stand to look at him. “I didn’t know the fey were capable of such…emotion.”

Emrys merely bowed his head, his hands running over the boy’s shoulders and back, searching for any injuries. He’d been under Morgana’s protection until the moment she fell. He could have been hurt while the battle still waged around him.

“For your loyalty and your love, you will be rewarded. Take them away.”

Emrys stood and scooped Mordred into his arms. Strong hands curled around his arms as two knights flanked him and dragged him from the bloody field. It was an end of an era, and Emrys could feel the world, feel time itself, shaping into something new. Humans held dominion now. They would flourish, they would bend the realm to their wills. Without Morgana, who would stop them from taking their rightful place?

“I am Arthur, crown prince of Camelot. I order by authority of the crown that all who will not bow their heads shall lose them.”

Emrys cupped the back of Mordred’s head and held his face against his shoulder as the old ones fell, one by one. Arthur’s last words echoed over the bodies, in his mind, through time. “Burn the bodies and salt the land.”

*          *          *

The guards took them to a small tent well behind the ground force’s lines and shoved them inside. As soon as the flap closed behind them, Emrys began his examination of Mordred in earnest. Mordred withstood the attention without speaking, patiently waiting for his father to be satisfied of his health. Mordred was remarkably patient with Emrys, considering he had never met his father before Morgana summoned him.

“Why did you yield?” he asked, once Emrys sat back on his heels. The question was full of curiosity and childish petulance. Emrys had no doubt that it was meant to be accusatory.

“To keep you safe.”

“I’m a child. The prince wouldn’t have killed me.”

Emrys believed that. He could not imagine the golden prince cutting down a child in cold blood. Especially not one who was so willing to offer his enemy quarter. “I didn’t say I was keeping you safe from him.”

Mordred touched his cheek, and Emrys closed his eyes, allowing the magic to pass through him and be absorbed by Mordred’s fingers. Something deep inside of Mordred flared in response, magic calling to magic. “I’m sorry for your great loss.”

Under other circumstance, Emrys might have smiled at such a solemn voice coming from such a small boy. Mordred had only seen six summers, but he had an old soul. “Thank you. I’m sorry you were forced to witness that.”

Emrys sat flat and pulled Mordred to his lap, wrapping his arms protectively around the boy. He watched the entrance, knowing that the prince would be joining them sooner rather than later. He didn’t doubt Arthur’s word, and he didn’t fear for his life. But he was no longer a free man, and neither was his son. Their fates rested on the mercy of the mortal prince who had no obligation to show them any at all.

“Will you be a servant?” Mordred asked.

“Yes.” There was no point in lying, since the truth would be revealed soon enough.

“Who will take care of me?”

“I will. I will  _ always _ take care of you. That’s not going to change.”

Mordred lifted his head, looking at Emrys with inhuman eyes. Something hot twisted in his chest, choking his breath at the sight. He was human, like his mother, but he was undeniably fey, too. The only thing not clear was the extent of his abilities. “You are not a servant.”

Emrys swallowed. “I am now.”

“At least you know your place, old one,” Arthur said, ducking into the tent.

Emrys jumped to his feet and bowed his head, Mordred still clinging to his neck. “Yes, sire, I do.”

A servant followed Arthur inside, bearing a goblet and bowl of fruit. Arthur sat in front of him, cross-legged, the goblet and bowl in front of him. Emrys wasn’t hungry, but he couldn’t say when Mordred ate last. He itched to call the bowl to him so he could offer it to his son, but Arthur wouldn’t forgive such insubordination. He had no choice but to watch as Arthur bit a strawberry in half.

“None of the fey chose to live.”

Emrys nodded.

“Which means you are the last of your kind in Camelot. Well, not counting the boy.”

“He’s human,” Emrys said softly.

“Of course. As you may know, magic has been outlawed among humans by royal decree for the past three generations. If you’re going to serve in the court, you must agree to abide by its rules. If you are ever caught using magic, the penalty is death. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Now then, what can you do?” Arthur asked pleasantly.

“Do, sire?”

“Yes, do.” Arthur gestured toward himself. “What can you do to serve me?”

The question startled Emrys. What had he ever done to serve anybody? Even Morgana had not been so impertinent. He’d once served Devona, after a fashion, but he doubted that was what Arthur meant. “I…I don’t know.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well, you must be good at something. Speak up, Emrys. Not many servants get the opportunity to select their placement. Can you cook? Are you good with horses? Do you know how to clean armor?”

“I…I could serve you.”

“I already have plenty of personal servants. I don’t need another one.”

“I could protect you.”

“You’re no knight, Emrys. And I have no use for magic.”

Emrys supposed that meant court sorcerer was right out as an option. “I do not have any specific training for…court.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever lived among mortals? I assumed so, due to the child.”

“No, sire. I have only spent brief periods in the mortal realm.”

The prince studied him thoughtfully for several long moments. Emrys finally averted his eyes, feeling very much like he’d already been condemned to the executioner, despite his oath offered in good faith.

“I have no desire to humiliate you,” Arthur finally said. “I’ll speak to the castellan personally when we return to court to find an appropriate place for you.”

“What of Mordred?”

“Perhaps the court physician needs a servant. Would that be agreeable?”

Given the alternative, it was more than agreeable. Mordred would never have an easy life in the Camelot castle, but he could have a safe one. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur continued to eat without offering to share. Emrys’s attention kept drifting to the full goblet, and it took an amazing act of willpower to stop himself from licking his dry lips. Did he just not know any better? It was difficult to believe that somebody with Arthur’s high birth would be so lacking in manners.  _ You’re a servant now. He has no reason to be polite to you.  _ Right on the heels of that thought was dark, familiar voice.  _ He must pay for his insolence. How dare he insult you in front of your son? _

Emrys shook that thought away. Arthur had defeated Morgana’s infamous army. He had killed a goddess. But more than that, Emrys had given his oath, had pledged his existence to Arthur’s. The time to kill him had passed and it would never return. No matter how many insults Emrys was forced to endure.

“We have irons,” Arthur continued conversationally.

“You will have no need for them, sire.”

“We’ll be breaking camp in three days time. The men need a chance to rest. There will be two men guarding your tent at all times. If you need anything, speak to them.”

“Am I not allowed to move freely?” Emrys asked with a trace of alarm. “I thought you said I would not be a prisoner.”

“You can leave the tent as you please. But I would suggest that you don’t unless necessary. The men…will be celebrating their victory.”  _ Over the death of your queen and your brothers. _

“I understand.” Emrys adjusted Mordred’s weight, his fingers absently smoothing over the boy’s hair. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Arthur asked, his mouth full of apple.

“Why did you give the fey a chance to yield? Surely you were aware of the dangers.” Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Emrys was giving this golden human more credit than he deserved.

“The battle was over. Your queen was dead. I have no desire to kill those who wish to give up the fight. Even if they are the folk.”

Emrys frowned. There was a certain logic to it, of course, but it didn’t seem very wise. Why would he want powerful, angry, murderous fey in his kingdom? Without realizing it, he gave voice to his question.

“Because a fairy’s word, once given, cannot be broken. I didn’t realize that they were still bound even beyond death, though.”

“Yes.”

“That’s good to know. It means you will never be a threat to Camelot.”

Emrys hadn’t even thought about that, but he had no choice but to nod.

“You will also be obligated to fight in Camelot’s defense.”

“As long as I live, sire, no harm will come to this land by my hand, and I will fight anybody who moves against the crown.”

“As long as your children and their children live, too.”

Emrys dutifully recited the words back to him, binding his life to Arthur’s kingdom.

Arthur nodded, clearly satisfied by Emrys’s oath. Perhaps he just needed to clarify Emrys’s promise for his own peace of mind, because he stood and pulled back the tent’s opening. “I’ll see that a proper dinner is sent to you. You can help yourself to…” He nodded at the untouched goblet.

Then he was gone with a swirl of his cape.

“I hate him,” Mordred whispered fiercely.

“No, you don’t. He is your prince and one day he will be your king.”

“But he doesn’t know who you are.”

Emrys swallowed. “That’s because I am nobody. Do you understand, Mordred? I’m nobody now.”

Mordred lifted his head and his eyes flashed with more emotion than should be possible in such a small child. Then they cleared, and he was just a human again. He nodded, tears shimmering and then falling down his red cheeks. Emrys held him as he cried, but he felt no desire to join him. Now the thought of Morgana’s death left him cold, and no emotion stirred when he remembered how Sibley and Banehorse fell.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur had not expected any of the fey to yield. If he’d even thought it a possibility, he probably wouldn’t have offered the chance. He knew full well that the fey would never shift allegiance from their goddess queen, even if she had been gutted at their feet. Besides that, the old ones hated mortals and would happily go to their deaths to avoid bowing to one. Arthur didn’t even know what he was supposed to do with a fairy in his court. His father wasn’t going to be pleased. The fey had given mortals every reason to hate and distrust them. Emrys would likely be a bone of great contention, not to mention his peculiar son who very clearly was not completely human. Arthur wasn’t exactly looking forward to the fight, which would no doubt last for days and be punctuated by stony glares and icy silences, but Arthur was a man of his word, and now he couldn’t go back on his promise.

Despite his general misgivings about bringing a fairy back to the castle, he had to admit his interest in Emrys was piqued. He first battled the fey when he was thirteen. His father would have never sent a boy so young to fight beings so powerful, but they had been ambushed while on a hunt. His men had been furiously fighting for their lives, and the fey had been amused. They were on their own hunt it seemed, and Arthur resolved after that day to defeat the fey in the mortal realm and drive them back to the fairy mounds. He’d made it his personal mission to rid the world of the old ones, and he’d almost succeeded. But for Emrys, who Arthur was honor bound to protect as he would protect any of his subjects.

Why had a fey a mortal son? Why had he been fighting in honor of a queen he’d sworn no oath to? And why did he look at Arthur with honest, knowing eyes? Could Emrys divine the future? Did he know something Arthur did not?

Well, it was likely he knew many things Arthur did not. His father would fly into a spit-speckled fury at the very idea of it, but Arthur was already considering the possibility of turning Emrys into one of his advisors. Who better to aid in the war against the fey? Arthur may have been victorious in that battle, but he knew that the fey were not the sort to forgive and forget. How long until they rallied and made a move to get their revenge? Arthur had to continue to be aggressive against the threat. Given the choice, Arthur would rather be on the offensive. Now that he thought about it, it seemed plainly obvious to him that having an advisor like Emrys would be a boon to his cause.

The fact that Emrys had an attractive visage shouldn’t have entered Arthur’s thoughts at all, but it did, elbowing its way between the various questions until Arthur was forced to acknowledge it was true. Emrys was quite beautiful, as were all his kind. He looked like he could be no older than Arthur himself, but the power that emanated from him revealed the fiction of his countenance. He was not a boy, and it would behoove Arthur to remember that and not be caught by his beauty. That was how they baited the trap, and the prime reason they shouldn’t be trusted. Nothing was stronger than a fairy’s word—it truly did bond them for eternity. But they rarely promised anything, and they took great delight in torturing mortals. He wanted to believe that Emrys’s submission to the crown was some sort of trap, but how could it be? He extracted a promise from Emrys to honor the kingdom and protect it until the end of time, if that was what it took. So if the fairy did have any dastardly plans, they should be thwarted now.

Arthur stood patiently while the servants stripped him of his heavy armor, and then his shift. Fresh clothes were waiting for him—an unbelievably luxury on the battlefield, but he was still the crown prince and he felt that meant he should be allowed some luxuries—and he sighed with relief to be rid of the garments that were stiff with sweat and blood. His stomach growled, and he would have bellowed for another plate of food, but he knew the feast was already being prepared. It would only be the first of many to commemorate this glorious day. His glorious victory.

A sudden wave of emotion washed through him, overwhelming him until his knees shook. He sat down heavily, struggling to catch his breath as he continued to be battered with everything from relief to fear, from joy to terror. Arthur closed his eyes, knowing if he looked down at himself, he would see his hands and legs trembling. When they’d launched their final campaign early that morning, Arthur knew they had to be victorious or the whole kingdom would be lost. Morgana never battled for something as simple as conquest, but Camelot could not withstand another defeat. If they did, it would be an invitation for all neighboring kingdoms to descend like birds to carrion.

Arthur had willed a victory because the thought of losing his kingdom could not be borne. At least, that’s how it felt on the battlefield. Morgana survived all of her campaigns against the mortal realm because no mortal in his right mind would ever approach a fairy queen, a goddess of war and love. Surely any mortal who tried would never stop paying for his insolence, but would suffer for eternity, until even the offended goddess forgot what he had done to insult her. But Arthur hadn’t been in his right mind. He’d been mad with pain and fear, like a wounded boar, and when he saw his opportunity to strike, he took it. His father and the rest of the court would demand a full retelling of the event. They would want every detail of the entire battle, but they would listen most attentively when Arthur explained how he finally ridded the realm of its nemesis. Arthur would have to make up something good, because he couldn’t remember a single detail. He remembered spotting his opening, and he remembered standing over Morgana’s fallen body, but how he got there, how it happened, was unknown to him.

Not that the specifics mattered. He was the crown prince, his kingdom’s champion, and he had been trained to fight and to win since his birth. The court and his people would accept his victory as inevitable, and celebrate him as the greatest hero in the land. Arthur couldn’t deny he liked the sound of that. He liked it so much that he wished they didn’t have to wait three days to break camp. He wanted to deliver the news to Uther himself, instead of allowing his father to hear it from a messenger. But his place was with his men, and his men deserved to rest and celebrate.

He had specifically told the messenger not to mention Emrys or Mordred, on pain of death. The threat might have been a little harsh, but Arthur needed to ensure he wasn’t going to be walking into an ambush. More than that, he needed to be sure Emrys wasn’t walking into an ambush. He didn’t want the fairy treated like a prisoner and thrown into the stocks or the dungeon. Either option would be a death sentence. Uther would need to hear that from Arthur’s own lips, and even then he might not fully understand or accept Arthur’s decision. He might even argue that Arthur was not bound to his promise, though it would be a weak argument from a desperate man. Even so, Arthur knew it would be most politic to report the situation himself.

Emrys. It was interesting to Arthur that Emrys simply looked as though he didn’t belong with the rest of the old ones. They had all been resplendent in their magic and their armor, haughty and foreboding and almost achingly beautiful. Emrys wore the clothes of a commoner, and he fought without a weapon, defended himself without a shield. Despite the fact that he seemed to be the least prepared to fight, Emrys had not been defeated. Yet he had bowed his head and accepted Arthur as his prince. Why? And why had he not taken the opportunity to kill Arthur when he had the chance?

Why did he have a mortal son?

Arthur didn’t want to obsess over the obvious conclusion that if he had a mortal son, then he’d had sexual congress with a mortal woman. But it was unusual. He’d never heard anything like it in his life. Everything about Emrys was unusual. Arthur liked to solve problems. His mind constantly worked and strategized, which was convenient in battle, but could be maddening in his quiet, lonely moments. He always felt a curious let down after a battle—whether they had been victorious or not—because for a short time he simply didn’t have anything to  _ do _ . Now the battle was barely over and he already had a new conundrum to chew on. He wished he had an excuse to return to Emrys’s tent. He was the prince, he didn’t  _ need _ an excuse. He didn’t need to justify himself to anybody. But he would no more bother Emrys without reason than he would invade the king’s private space without an invitation. It was strange but, Arthur recognized, true.

A knight entered the tent and immediately dropped to his knee and bowed his head. “Sire.”

“Rise, Sir Gwaine. What is it?”

“The fairy, sire.”

“Emrys?” He made sure his tone was casual, almost uninterested.

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“He has emerged from his tent.”

Arthur blinked. “And?”

“I thought you would like to be updated on his movements, sire.”

“Is he turning anybody into toads or wreaking havoc in the camp?”

“No, sire.”

_ Then why are you bothering me _ ? “Thank you, Sir Knight.”

“Sire?”

“Yes?”

“He is frightening the servants.” And probably the men, too, but Gwaine would never say as much.

“I thought you said he wasn’t wreaking havoc?” It wouldn’t do to indulge their fears. They needed to become accustomed to Emrys’s presence.

“He’s not, sire. But he is very powerful and you haven’t put the irons on him.”

“Do you know what iron does to a fairy? It burns through flesh like fire. Why would I do that to somebody who has already sworn his oath to me?” Arthur demanded, his voice still even though he was more than a little annoyed he had to ask the question in the first place. “Return only if he has done something wrong.”

The knight nodded and departed, but Arthur knew that wasn’t going to be the end of it. He was certain the next three days would be a steady stream of knights and servants, rushing to tell their prince exactly what the strange fairy in their midst was up to. And it would probably be worse in the castle, when everybody’s eyes would be on Emrys. The thought left him vaguely upset, as though his people were already guilty of ignoring his orders.

The next time Gwaine stepped into his tent, it was to tell him that all of the bodies on the battlefield had been sorted. Arthur’s men had been given a proper burial, while the fey were stacked, awaiting the torch. The knight suggested they start the fire immediately, even though night had already fallen. “It shouldn’t wait until the morning, sire.”

His first thought was of Emrys. How it would hurt him to not only hear the men celebrate, but to smell the thick smoke of burning flesh and see the fire glowing in the darkness. Arthur shook the thought away. He couldn’t make all of his decisions based solely on the comfort of one servant.

“Burn them. And then send a scout out to find the fairy mound. I want it destroyed before we leave here.”

“Yes, sire. But…”

“What?”

“How does one destroy a fairy mound?”

Arthur’s lips thinned. He didn’t know the answer to that question. He wasn’t even sure it was possible to fully destroy one. But he couldn’t leave it, either. Who knew how many fey lurked on the other side, ready to go to battle to avenge their queen? If Arthur didn’t do something to stop it from happening, they could have another war on their hands before they had a chance to recover from this one.

“I suppose the best way to answer that is to ask the fairy.” At Gwaine’s stricken expression, Arthur smiled. “I’ll speak to him. Inform the guard outside his tent to bring him to me.”

Gwaine didn’t exactly look relieved, but he nodded and hurried to do Arthur’s bidding. Only a handful of minutes passed before Gwaine returned, with Emrys in tow. Emrys immediately dropped to one knee and bowed his head, showing the right and proper deference. A part of Arthur—the princely part—took a great deal of satisfaction at the sight. But the rest of him felt strangely cold at the display.

“You wished to see me, sire?”

How much did it cost the fairy to utter those words? Or had he made his peace with his new place in the world? Arthur didn’t even know why the question was on his mind. It shouldn’t have mattered to him either way.

“Yes. Please sit down.” Arthur waited until Emrys was settled on the stool before asking, “Was your dinner acceptable?”

Emrys blinked with surprise, and to be honest, Arthur was more than a little surprised himself. “Yes, sire, it was more than acceptable. Thank you for your generosity.”

“I find I’m already in need of your services, old one.”

“I am here to serve, sire.”

The correct words said in absolutely the right tone, but Arthur received even less satisfaction from them than he did seeing Emrys bow before him. “I want to destroy all the fairy mounds in Camelot. Can this be done?”

“No, sire.”

Arthur nearly gasped. That was not the answer he’d been expecting. Anything that existed could be destroyed. Didn’t the burning pile of fey corpses prove that much? “Explain yourself.”

“There is not much to explain, sire. It is not possible for mortal men to destroy the doorways. However, it is possible to seal them.”

“Do you know how to do that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where the nearest one is?”

Emrys nodded. “Yes, sire. It is perhaps a half a day’s ride from here.”

“How many fairy mounds are in Camelot?”

Emrys’s brow knitted together. “Since I do not know the borders of your kingdom, I cannot answer the question. Perhaps six. Perhaps more.”

“You are capable of locating the fairy mounds, I’m sure.”

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur nodded. “Very well. Tomorrow we’ll ride out to close the one in this area. That is all.”

“Sire?”

“What?”

“May Mordred accompany us?”

Arthur hadn’t considered the boy, but he supposed it was better to let Emrys watch over him rather than leave him with the knights. Especially since his knights probably found the strange child alarming.

“Yes. We’ll leave camp at dawn. Gwaine will escort you back to your tent.”

An assignment Gwaine didn’t exactly seem pleased about. Hopefully his discomfort around the fairy would fade in time, as would everybody else’s. Arthur didn’t want to think of the consequences otherwise.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

One of the guards presented Emrys with a chestnut gelding as he emerged from his tent, and he realized with a slight jolt that he was expected to ride it. He could no longer simply magic himself to his destination. He couldn’t summon a puka. He couldn’t change his mind and announce he wanted to sleep for another few hours. As Emrys stared at the horse and the horse stared at him, he felt the last of his freedom slip from his fingers. His eyes stung, and regret, as sharp as Arthur’s sword, pierced his chest. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, his sharp ears listening to the fire burning on the battlefield, his sharper nose assaulted by the thick, sweet-smelling smoke. Mordred had been curled into his side, his hand resting over his mouth and nose, his eyes tightly closed though Emrys could tell sleep eluded him as well.

More than once, Emrys had thought of sticking his head out of the tent. He wanted to see if the stars had realigned themselves with Banbha’s death. He wanted to see if the moon had cloaked its face with mourning, and if the sparks from the fires danced in time to ancient rhythms. But the men had been raucous in their celebration, and Emrys had no desire to attract attention to himself. He’d heard them shouting for irons and salt, arguing amongst themselves over the wisdom of questioning Arthur’s orders. Emrys had tensed as he listened to them, feeling as though he was already held down by chains, prepared to do whatever necessary to protect Mordred from them. But it hadn’t come to that.

Emrys tried to pull himself together before Arthur arrived, having no desire to explain why the sight of a horse was enough to reduce him to tears. Especially since the horse was a perfectly acceptable beast. Emrys smoothed his fingers down the center of his face until he reached his muzzle. The horse whinnied and lipped his fingers curiously, its brown eyes mild, its tail swishing sedately against the back of its legs. Mordred stood off to the side, watching the horse with a guarded expression.

“Come here,” Emrys said softly, holding out his hand. Mordred obeyed, his fingers cool and small against Emrys’s palm. He gently guided Mordred’s hand to the beast’s neck and Mordred almost smiled as he felt the horse’s warm, soft fur.

“I trust you’re ready to ride,” Arthur said, startling them both. Mordred jerked his hand away, and the horse stomped its foot and neighed.

“Yes, sire. We’re ready.”

“Then mount up. If it’s a half day’s ride, we don’t have time to waste.”

Emrys lifted himself into the saddle, then pulled Mordred up behind him. The boy wrapped trembling arms around his waist, and Emrys just hoped that Mordred had the good sense not to complain.

“Has the boy never been on a horse?” Arthur asked.

Emrys didn’t know how he could have possibly sensed Mordred’s fear. “He comes from a poor village.”

“And they had no horses?”

“No, sire.”

“I see. He won’t slow us down, will he?”

“No. He knows how to hold on.”

“See that he doesn’t fall,” Arthur warned. Emrys quickly nodded, murmuring another promise that Mordred wouldn’t be a problem. He didn’t dare reveal his own ignorance when it came to riding, certain that Arthur would just be exasperated and confused at the confession. “Which direction?”

Emrys took a deep breath, only briefly considering a lie. He could take Arthur on a wild chase through the countryside. He could lure him miles and miles from his camp, away from the men who would kill and die for him. He could take Arthur to a land where he was not a crown prince, not a champion, not anything special. He could strip him of his power and his armor, leave him vulnerable and begging, tears flowing down his face in the moment before Emrys finally delivered the killing blow.

“It’s west of here, sire.”

Arthur studied him for a moment, and Emrys had the uneasy feeling that the mortal was privy to his treacherous thoughts. He stared back, unblinking, until Arthur nodded. “Lancelot, lead the way. Leon, you’re at the rear.”

The two knights nodded and kicked their horses into position. Arthur moved beside Emrys and took the reins from his hands, looping it around his saddle horn. Emrys raised his brow questioningly, but Arthur ignored him and gave the order to move out. A few knights whooped and hollered their farewells, their goblets still full of ale. Arthur ignored them, Lancelot nodded in their direction.

The battlefield was east of them, and Emrys was just relieved they wouldn’t have to ride past the smoldering bodies. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon behind them, and Emrys couldn’t stop himself from sneaking glances at Arthur as they rode in silence. He wasn’t glowing today, and he seemed smaller, as though he was a different person when not engaged in mortal combat. If he had a sorcerer on his side, he might very well have been a different man than the one Emrys had met the day before. But based on the conversation they’d had in the tent, Emrys was confident they fought the fey without any magical advantages at all.

Emrys didn’t know how that could be.

“You’re not going to try anything funny when we reach the mound, are you?” Arthur asked.

“Funny, sire?”

“Yes, funny. Like try to escape into the fairy realm or call on another army.”

“Oh. No.”

“How can I be certain you’re not lying?”

“I guess you can’t be, sire. But I have no wish to return to the fairy realm now, and there is no army waiting to be unleashed. There is nobody left to lead one.”

“There’s you,” Arthur pointed out.

“No fey army would follow me,” Emrys said mildly. “I am already a traitor to them.”

“Because you swore an oath to me?”

_ Among other things. _ “Yes.”

“Where is the child’s mother?”

The child in question stiffened at the question, but was already wise enough to hold his tongue. “She is dead, sire.”

“My condolences, Mordred. My mother also died when I was quite young.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Mordred’s words were small but sincere. Emrys quietly sighed with relief.

“Is the tragedy recent?” Arthur asked, his tone softer and more respectful. His eyes widened and he quickly added, “She was not on the battlefield yesterday, was she?”

Emrys frowned, surprised by the question. A quick glance at Arthur’s stricken face confirmed that the prince genuinely cared about the answer, and genuinely feared what it might be. Emrys wondered what he would say if Emrys revealed that Banbha had been his mother, and decided not to mention it. “No, my lord. She died of an illness last winter.”

Arthur nodded. “It was a difficult winter for many. Sometimes I wish I could bend the elements to my will.”

Emrys’s fingers tingled, and he looked away, staring resolutely at the space between the horse’s ears. Mordred’s arms tightened around him, and Emrys sought his mind for something, anything, to say in response. When Mordred finally began to relax, Emrys dared a glance in Arthur’s direction. He was scanning the hills in the distance, and if he had realized what he’d said, he gave no signs of it. What would his reaction be if Emrys gently reminded him that he  _ did _ have that power now?

How long would it be before Arthur realized it on his own?

Emrys didn’t want to linger on that question for too long. It led to a briar patch of difficult answers and consequences. Arthur was his master now. What if he demanded something of Emrys that Emrys didn’t want to give? Emrys could feel a bitter laugh bubbling in his throat. He had been able to withstand Banbha’s demands, but a human prince may be capable of bending him to mortal whims from the mundane to the evil.

“North, sire,” Emrys said after an hour of silence.

“Lancelot,” Arthur said, and they all shifted direction in a smooth motion.

For the rest of the morning, Emrys only spoke when he needed to announce a new direction. Mordred’s breathing evened until Emrys knew he had fallen asleep. Emrys found his attention drifting to Arthur more and more, and locking there for longer periods of time. Emrys wasn’t sure what it was about the young mortal he found so fascinating, but his interest only grew as the hours wore on. Occasionally, Arthur’s gaze would slide sideways, and their eyes would clash. When that happened, Emrys inevitably looked away first, but only because he had no intention of challenging Arthur, not because he cared if Arthur noticed him staring.

Once they were within an hour of the fairy mound, Emrys was distracted by the pull of magic. His blood sang from the energy, and there was a distinct buzz in his ears. It called to him, assured him he would be home soon. If he betrayed Arthur and went through the door, the prince could not follow. There was nobody left to know or care if he violated his word. And he believed Arthur would look after Mordred, not because he promised, but because he was a man who would not stand by to watch a child suffer. But if that were true—and he believed it to be—then why wouldn’t he wish to serve such a man?

“I should go on ahead,” Emrys finally said.

Arthur reined in his horse. “Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It would be best if…”

“No.”

Emrys wasn’t exactly surprised by the reaction, but he wasn’t quite prepared to back down either. “What you’re asking me to do will not be easy. I cannot risk being distracted.”

“Very well. Lancelot, Leon, you stay here with the boy. Emrys and I will ride ahead.”

Emrys awkwardly turned to shake Mordred awake. He blinked up at Emrys with confusion in his clear eyes, and Emrys stifled the urge to gasp. The magic was clearly having an effect on Mordred, too.

“Mordred, I need you to sit under that tree over there and not move. We’ll be back before you know it. The two knights are going to keep an eye on you.”

Mordred nodded and allowed Emrys to lower him to the ground. He immediately ran over to the tree, curling up beside it like a wild animal, resting his head against the rough bark. Lancelot and Leon dismounted, and Arthur tossed the reins back to Emrys.

“Lead on.”

Emrys considered commenting on how brave it was for Arthur to ride with him to the mound, but changed his mind after he realized it could be interpreted as a threat rather than a compliment. As they neared the hallowed spot, silence descended on them like a fog. It was the glamour put in place to obscure the entrance to the fairy realm—it not only repelled mortals but all common creatures. There were no birds, no bees or flies humming, and no deer grazing through the lush grass. Judging by the look on Arthur’s face, he immediately noticed the difference.

“We’re close, aren’t we?”

“Yes, sire.”

“I’ve never been here,” Arthur said with obvious confusion. “This area isn’t familiar to me at all, but I’ve spent most of my life riding through this land.”

“It’s the glamour. It is meant to repel you from the area. It repels all living things.”

“Why am I not repelled now?”

“Because you’re with me.”

The answer seemed to be enough for Arthur, and they continued on in silence until they reached the small mound of earth. Emrys immediately dismounted and approached it, forgetting that he should be following Arthur’s lead. Behind him, he heard the armor clatter as Arthur followed him. Emrys’s heart beat faster and he felt the magic swirling at his fingertips, the magic that leaked from the locked door immediately rushing to gather around him.

“Is this it, then?”

“Yes.”

Arthur walked right up to the mound, unmindful of how dangerous it was. Perhaps he expected everything in his kingdom to bow to his will, regardless of whether or not it was under his domain.

“It’s so small.”

“It’s only an entrance, sire.”

“But Banbha led an entire army. I thought it would be more of a castle.”

Emrys arched his brow. “Even though it’s called a fairy  _ mound _ ? Besides, there are castles inside.”

“Big ones?”

“Palaces beyond your imagination, sire.”

Arthur touched the door with the toe of his boot, and a jolt of alarm shot down Emrys’s spine. “Can I go in?”

“You can open the door,” Emrys admitted, hoping Arthur wouldn’t take it as an invitation. “But you’ll see nothing except a hole in the ground. Mortal eyes are incapable of seeing the fairy realm.”

“But if I did open the door, they would see me.”

“Correct, sire.”

“So I guess I shouldn’t open the door then.”

Emrys almost smiled. “That would be most wise, sire. Can you step away, please?”

Arthur complied, moving away from the door to stand by his horse, holding the stallion’s head in an absent, comforting way. Emrys dragged his attention from him, and he could feel the fey on the other side of the barrier, pulsing, waiting. They could sense him, too.  _ The prince has returned. The prince has returned to us _ .

Emrys held his hand out toward the door and spoke two incantations in the old tongue. The first was an apology. Each syllable was imbued with magic that would carry it over the barrier and into the waiting ears of the fey. The second incantation formed an unbreakable lock over the entrance. It shattered the glamour around them and sealed the door shut for eternity. The mound was not defenseless, and it tried to block Emrys’s magic, pushing back until Emrys’s legs were quivering and his muscles ached. The pressure beneath his skin increased until he thought his muscles would simply snap, the tendons too brittle, stretched too thin, to remain strong. Emrys kept himself standing through will alone, refusing to show such weakness in front of Arthur. Refusing to fail him.

Gathering what strength he had left, he muttered another incantation in the old tongue. “I am your prince and I  _ command _ you.”

There was a loud boom, like thunder right overhead, and then the resistance snapped. Emrys’s legs bent suddenly and he would have collapsed to the ground if a strong arm hadn’t caught him from behind. Arthur dragged him back against his chest, holding him tightly. Emrys allowed himself to go lax for a moment, happy not to support his own weight.

“I didn’t know it was going to be like that.”

“It’s powerful magic, sire.”

“And…it’s permanent? What you did?”

Emrys licked his lips. “It should be.”

“But there are others.”

“Yes.”

“I want my kingdom rid of them. We’ll go back to the camp to let my men know, and then we’ll ride out again.”

“We, sire?” Arthur was still holding him and Emrys was still allowing it, though he probably had strength enough to stand. The armor was hard against his back, warm from the sun and Arthur’s own body.

“Yes, we. You, me, Mordred, and my men. With only five of us, we can travel light and fast. We won’t be delayed for more than a fortnight.”

Emrys tried to imagine spending the next fortnight doing this, and he sagged at the thought. Arthur’s arms tightened around him, pulling him upright again. “Are you going to be all right? Do you need to rest?”

Emrys nodded, and found himself gently lowered to the grass beneath him. Arthur collapsed beside him in a surprisingly graceless display, and plucked a leaf from the ground next to Emrys’s hand. He twirled it between his fingers, gazing at it with a fixed expression. Emrys watched him for a moment, but there wasn’t anything particularly special about that piece of grass.

They were both silent for a long time. It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t the silence of two enemies who were forced to be allies. Emrys trusted the man beside him not to cut off his head while he was too weak to defend himself. He sensed a certain curiosity radiating off Arthur, could almost hear the hundred questions dancing on his tongue. And there would be a hundred more after that. Arthur had a quick, curious mind, one more than capable of generating an infinite number of inquiries.

When Arthur did speak, he led off with a question that Emrys had not anticipated.

“Why did you give me your oath?” Arthur tilted his head, studying him. “You could have killed me where I stood. The power you have. You could kill me right now.”

“Why did you show me clemency?”

The question seemed to catch Arthur off guard, like he never expected anybody to wonder at the decision, let alone question it. Of course, he was a prince. Questioning him at all might have been punishable by death. “That is, sire, I gave you my oath because you’re a great…”

Arthur held up his hand in a singularly imperial gesture, cutting Emrys off. “I didn’t ask because I wanted to hear you flatter me. I just…wanted to know.”

Emrys believed him. But he didn’t know how to answer him. It was all very complicated and very simple, and the magic he would never use against his new master still coursed through him. “To protect my son and other innocents who have no business dying in these endless wars. Killing you would have done nobody any good.”

“You would have avenged your queen,” Arthur pointed out.

“Spilling your blood wouldn’t have brought her back.” Not necessarily. “Besides, Banbha had no honor to avenge. She was a murderer and she reached a just end.”

“You…really feel that way?”

Emrys eyes locked with Arthur’s. “Yes. Don’t you?”

“Of course. But I didn’t know if you only felt that way because that’s what you thought I wanted to hear.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, yes. But you’re being intentionally difficult.”

Emrys grinned. “Maybe a little. But that is my true feeling on the matter. Besides…” He took a deep breath and looked away, knowing his confession could reflect very, very poorly on him as a loyal subject. “I tried to kill her so many times it would be a bit hypocritical to…take your life.”

Emrys risked a quick glance to see that Arthur was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth opened. “You tried to kill Banbha?”

“Yes. The cost of her wars was great for both the human and the fey.”

“Oh. I never thought…I mean, I thought all the fey were evil.”

“Yet you offered to spare their lives.”

Something dark passed over Arthur’s expression. “Since you’re being honest with me, I shall extend the same courtesy to you. I did not believe anybody would accept. That is why I offered clemency.”

“Oh.”

“That is not to say I wish you had refused. It’s just—”

“Mercy is easily extended when there’s no thought of it being accepted,” Emrys said softly.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Sire.” Emrys took a breath and lifted his chin. “You have no need to explain yourself to me. It’s my place to follow you now, not question you.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to argue, though how or why he could even consider such a thing, Emrys didn’t understand. He apparently reached the same conclusion, because he closed his mouth with a snap and nodded. They returned to their companionable silence, and Emrys thought about the fact that they could have been contemporaries. Two royal born sons, waiting for their crown and…

Emrys caught his breath. And he was no longer a prince. That was why the mound had obeyed him. He was no longer a prince, but a king. If Arthur had any desire to destroy the whole of the fey realm, he had the means sitting beside him. Emrys tucked that secret away, burying it as deeply as he could to ensure it would never escape him.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Arthur had always liked sleeping outdoors. He liked sleeping on a bed of soft grass, enjoyed the blanket of fresh, sweet air, and loved to gaze up at the stars. Since he’d started leading the king’s men into battle, sleeping outside had been a rare treat. The knights liked to keep him secure in a tent. It was easier to guard his life if he was in a single, confined space, but just because Arthur understood the necessity of it didn’t mean he liked it. But now there were no tents, no battlefield, and the night wasn’t thick with the smell of fresh blood. There was only the crackle of the fire and the soft, steady breathing of two sleeping knights and a little boy.

“Is it near here?” Arthur asked, staring at the fire instead of at the fairy seated on the other side of the flames. He looked…wild. His dark eyes reflected the orange light and his face was partially obscured by dancing shadows. He reminded Arthur of a chained animal, except he could actually break the chains binding him. What would he do then? Was it in him to murder a prince? Or would he simply run into the night until he was completely swallowed up?

“It is.” He didn’t sound any different, for all he looked like a wild animal.

“Can we…” Arthur stopped himself, and he could see his own surprise mirrored on Emrys’s face. A piece of wood popped in the awkward silence that followed, and sparks fluttered in the air between them. Emrys exhaled and the sparks shifted direction, dancing on the gentle currents of Emrys’s breath.

“May I show you the mound, sire?”

Arthur stood and moved to kick Gwaine’s arm to waken him, but Emrys’s fingers were suddenly on his arm, stilling him. “You don’t need to do that, sire.”

“Somebody needs to keep watch while we’re gone.”

“They will be safe.” Emrys looked over to Mordred and added softly, “I assure you, sire.”

Arthur wanted to argue with him, but that was only because he felt contrary. His near slip of the tongue still bothered him, poking at the back of his mind.  _ Were you really going to ask a servant if you could do something? Were you really going to ask his permission? _

“We could walk, sire, if you don’t wish to bother with the horses.”

Arthur nodded and turned to follow Emrys away from the comforting orange glow of the fire. There was no moon and the starlight barely lit their path. He had no choice but to follow Emrys, who slid through the night like a slippery shadow, so silently that Arthur couldn’t hear him though he was close enough to touch. His earlier unease returned, this time with the smallest hint of fear. He wasn’t a regular man. Arthur could never forget that, even if Emrys slept and ate and bowed his head like any man in Arthur’s kingdom.

Arthur lost track of the time as they moved through the woodland. He’d hunted in this forest before, but not in many years. He wasn’t quite a stranger to the area, but due to the magic surrounding the fairy mound, he might as well have been. He was vulnerable, without the protection of his knights, in the dark, with only a wild fey to guide him. Had he taken leave of his senses? If his father ever heard word of this, he would be punished for his obvious stupidity.

Long, warm fingers closed around his wrist and Arthur resisted the impulse to yank away from them and snap that nobody was  _ ever _ to touch him without permission. “Sire. Wait here.”

“Stop. First, I would like to know why you think you can order me to do anything. Second, where are you going?”

He expected Emrys to apologize for forgetting his place and then offer a reasonable explanation in his even, soft voice. He did not expect Emrys’s eyes to glow blue, casting a low light over his features. Arthur blinked, hot fear crawling at the back of his throat. He didn’t know how or why, but Emrys had been transformed. His hair was a bit more wild, his mouth pulled into a strange little smile that Arthur had never seen before, and his skin was a gleaming white.

“There’s something here,” Emrys said.

Arthur spun around, eyes scanning the darkness. “Where? I thought you said we’d be safe.”

“I said  _ they _ would be safe.” His hold on Arthur’s wrist tightened, and Arthur realized with new horror that he wasn’t strong enough to escape. Even if he managed to free his sword and cut Emrys down where he stood, those fingers would remain locked around his wrist for eternity.

“What is it?”

“Something you don’t want to meet in the dark, sire.”

“I’m not a coward,” Arthur said stiffly.

“You’re very brave,” Emrys assured him. “But you’ll also be very dead if you don’t do exactly what I say. Walk silently. Don’t speak. And don’t take your eyes off me.”

“Why?” Arthur whispered, torn between fear and anger and not liking either one.

“I’ll explain if…when we return to camp.  _ Please _ , Arthur.”

Arthur looked up, surprised to see that the stars were gone. Not obscured or hidden by clouds, but  _ gone _ . Arthur felt like he was staring into infinity, and if he looked long enough, he would see Emrys’s glowing blue eyes. He dragged his attention away and nodded his consent, allowing Emrys to drag him forward into a darkness as complete as the one above their heads.

Branches scraped across his face and hooked around his arms and legs as they hurried through the woods. Arthur’s sense of direction was entirely confused, but he had the sense they were running  _ away _ from the camp. Which was exactly the opposite direction Arthur wanted to go, but he remembered Emrys’s low plea with him to be quiet. Arthur was a veteran of too many battles and too many ambushes to knowingly attract attention to himself when an enemy was nearby, even if he knew nothing of the enemy. They moved at a quick pace that wasn’t quite a run, and Arthur’s heart thudded heavily in his ears, and the metallic taste of fear coated the back of his tongue.

Emrys stopped suddenly, his thin shoulders rising and falling rapidly. Arthur watched him, waiting for some sort of explanation or apology. Neither was forthcoming. Emrys closed his eyes, holding up his free hand, palm outward. He neither spoke nor moved, his frame completely still. He could have been a tree, and Arthur had no option but to stand there, staring stupidly and wishing Emrys wasn’t holding his sword hand.

“ _ Stop _ ,” Emrys demanded in a voice that didn’t, couldn’t, belong to him. There was no question of disobeying this order, and the very earth seemed to tremble beneath the command. “Now.”

“What—”

“Who are you to order me, child?” The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. It radiated from every leaf on every tree, and from the stones at their feet, and the air itself.

Emrys answered in the old tongue. His voice trembled but the raw authority underscoring each word still came through loud and clear. Arthur stared at him with a fresh wash of fear. He might have been the crown prince, but this was Emrys’s dominion. He  _ knew _ it as surely as he knew his own name. Could he cut down a prince in his own land? The very trees would rise up in anger if he did, and the voice, the  _ thing _ , in the dark would turn on him as well.

“You have been lost. I was sent to find you.”

“Return to your home. You are not needed here.”

“But the doors—”

“I said  _ return _ .” The final word boomed like thunder and the darkness quaked around them in fear. And then that oppressive presence was gone, and the night returned to its normal shades of silver and blue, light pulling away from shadows.

Emrys released his wrist.

Neither one of them moved or made a sound. Arthur didn’t know quite what to say, and he guessed Emrys faced the same problem.

“You’re not a servant,” Arthur finally said.

“I’m  _ your _ servant.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“I just saved your kingdom.”

“What was that thing?”

“It…it was like a guardian. It sensed me closing the doors. Well, it sensed  _ something _ closing the doors, and it came to protect this one.”

“Where was it?” Arthur asked.

“Everywhere. Nowhere. In the earth and the wind, but without a body.”

“How did you sense it?”

Emrys looked at him with inhuman eyes. “Didn’t you sense it the moment it arrived?”

“I…I sensed something,” Arthur admitted. “If it’s everywhere, why did we run?”

Emrys gestured with his arm, and new light fell on them with no obvious source. A tiny door shimmered in the light just ten feet ahead of them. It looked like all the other fairy mounds he’d seen at Emrys’s side in the past several days. There was nothing remarkable about it at all, once you came to terms with the fact that it opened into a new, unseen realm. But the night felt different, and when Arthur gazed upon the door, it was with fear and anticipation and curiosity. He wanted to ask again if he could ever enter the fairy realm, but Emrys had already told him the answer. Several times.

“We must close it,” Arthur murmured.

“Yes, sire, that’s why we’re here.”

“But…I don’t want to.”

“Arthur?” A light touch on his arm finally pulled the prince’s attention from the door. “I’m sure it’s the last one. If you want to protect your kingdom, then I need to seal it.”

“But what if we need it?”

Emrys blinked, and he looked more than a little confused. Arthur wondered how he ever saw some sort of wild creature when he looked at this man—especially since in his confusion he didn’t look much older than a child.

“Why would we need it?”

“I…I don’t know.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I just felt like…it’s permanent. And you…you are not a servant.”

Emrys’s lips twitched. “Didn’t we just have this discussion? I know you’re a little…apprehensive.”

Frightened, Arthur thought bitterly.  _ He was going to say frightened _ . Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d been afraid of anything, and nobody in Camelot would call their prince a coward. He led his men into every battle, and he had slain a  _ goddess _ of war, the queen of the fairies. If he never fought in another battle, his legacy would still be secure, and the bards would tell the story of his legend well after his death. Maybe even for hundreds of years after his death. When they marched back to Camelot, they would be honored as heroes, and all the people would demand retelling after retelling of his most triumphant moment. And Emrys had almost accused him of being scared.

The worst thing was that Emrys was right. Arthur was scared, of a power he didn’t understand and certainly couldn’t control. He had believed he could. When he took Emrys’s oath, he was confident that the power the fey harbored would fall easily under Arthur’s domain. Even when he had been given his first practical demonstration, he had believed himself to still have the upper-hand on the situation. But Emrys could control the very darkness that surrounded them.

“You don’t trust me,” Emrys finally said softly, unhappily.

“I don’t know what to make of you.”

“Ask me anything, sire.”

“Why did you swear your oath to me?”

Emrys took a deep breath. “Because I had no wish to die in a war that was not mine. Because I don’t make war against mortals. Because I loved a mortal once. Because Morgana kidnapped my son and held him where I couldn’t reach him, forcing me to fight at her side. Because you’re a good man and one day you may be a great king. I know you are frightened of what I can do, but you have my word that I would never act against you. Think about what we could accomplish together.”

“What are you suggesting?” Arthur asked with an edge of suspicion.

“Nothing, my lord. Nothing beyond the obvious, at any rate. My power is yours to command. I could do nothing with it. Or I could make the winters mild, the summer heat bearable. I can make sure nobody in your kingdom ever goes hungry. I can make your kingdom prosperous beyond your hopes. And if you have no desire for any of that, I can tend to your horses and keep to myself with Mordred.”

There was a calmness in Emrys’s voice. A certain authority. His earlier certainty that Emrys was no servant came rushing back to him. He spoke as though he were a king. Arthur hadn’t considered the true ramifications of his decision until that moment, and the force of it drove him to his knees. He put a hand down to the dirt to steady himself and he realized he was kneeling, actually  _ kneeling _ , at Emrys’s feet. Arthur had bowed to no man, save his father, in his entire life, but there he was like a common peasant.

Emrys immediately dropped to one knee, ducking until they were eye-level again. “Sire?”

“Tell me the truth.”

“Anything.”

“You are not a servant.”

“No, I was once a prince. But now I’m your servant, as I said. And I will remain your servant until you cease to take breath. You have offered me the choice, and I took this one.”

“But you could…” Arthur let his voice fall away, allowing everything they both knew Emrys _could_ _do_ to hang between them.

“You could have killed my son,” Emrys said softly.

Arthur jerked back, his face twisting in disgust. “I would never kill an innocent child. Never.”

“I believe you to be as innocent as Mordred. You didn’t seek a war with the fey. That was all Morgana’s doing. You were like ants are to her. She crushed you for the pleasure of it, and you fought back.  _ You _ , Arthur, had the strength and the courage to stop the bloodshed. And now you’ll have the opportunity to put your kingdom back together again.”

“With you by my side.”

“Yes.”

Arthur grasped Emrys’s forearm, and Emrys took Arthur’s. They knelt in front of each other in mutual respect, arms locked together, in a promise that held more than a little magic. Before Arthur had only Emrys’s oath of allegiance, but now there was something much stronger bonding them. Because Arthur made a promise as well, and he intended to honor it.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The king’s guards were waiting for them at the castle gates, and Arthur knew that word of his newest servant had beat him back to the court. Arthur dropped back from the head of the procession, allowing his knights to slowly pass him as he moved into position beside Emrys and Mordred. Emrys acknowledged him with a small, almost shy smile, and Arthur felt like a real ass for what he was about to say.

“The king’s men are going to place you under arrest.”

Emrys looked at him with confusion, his smile slowly morphing into a frown. “Why?”

“Because he…he doesn’t trust you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“He knows you’re a fey,” Arthur answered softly. “I gave explicit instructions to the messengers not to mention you or your son, but I saw the guards waiting for us outside the castle gates. Normally, they wouldn’t be waiting to meet us, unless we had prisoners.”

“And we’re the only prisoners.”

“Yes.”

“What happens after that? He’ll send me to the dungeons and then?”

“I don’t know. He will probably sentence you to execution, but I’m sure I can convince him to grant you a pardon.” Arthur looked down at his fingers, curled tightly around the reins. The stallion was already prancing beneath him, reacting to his tension. Arthur just hoped Emrys didn’t realize how much the entire situation upset him. “It’s not illegal to be a fey.”

“It is illegal to make war on the kingdom.”

“Well, yes. But you weren’t making war on the kingdom,” Arthur pointed out.

“I doubt he’ll appreciate the distinction you’re drawing.”

“You could leave. Right now. I know you can just…disappear.”

“I could,” Emrys agreed. “But I won’t.”

“I said I only  _ think _ I could convince him to pardon you. I can’t guarantee it.”

“I made a promise to you, Arthur,” Emrys said with finality. Arthur had heard that tone before. It was the same one his father used when making announcements to the kingdom. It meant there would be no further argument or discussion. “What will happen to Mordred?”

“He’s human. They won’t arrest him. I’ll take care of him.”

Emrys blinked. “You don’t have to do that, sire.”

“I do. He’ll live in my quarters and I’ll assign a maid to see after his needs. It’s the only way I can guarantee his safety.”

“Can I ask for one thing?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let them chain me. I don’t want Mordred to see me being hauled away like that. It’ll only upset him.”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “I’ll ride ahead.”

Arthur put himself far ahead of the column of marching knights, his mind working furiously as he approached the guards. First, he was going to find out who reported Emrys’s capture to the king. He had spent the past three days carefully working over scenario after scenario, rehearsing dozens of different speeches with dozens of small variations, carefully selecting each word and stringing them together in the perfect order. It was a very delicate matter. Probably more delicate than even Arthur could handle with his rather coarse diplomatic skills, but he was definitely the best man for the job. And he had made it  _ absolutely clear _ that he didn’t want  _ any _ of the men speaking out of turn. He hadn’t instructed the messengers to lie to his father, of course, but he made it clear that he was the only one who should be providing a full report.

When he found out who had disobeyed him, he was going to string the cur up by his toes in the middle of the courtyard. He would make a fine example of Arthur’s wrath. He punished servants very, very rarely—a trait that his father deplored—but when one moved him to rage, he or she was punished to the full extent of Arthur’s power and anger. Putting Emrys in danger called for that sort of response, though Arthur couldn’t explain how or why. It just  _ did _ . Perhaps because he understood on a basic level how helpful Emrys could be for the kingdom. Not just for wars, not just for gaining more land, but for protection and food and water. The servant who had reported to Uther, and Uther himself, should have trusted Arthur’s judgment on the matter. He was entrusted to know who to kill, they should also trust him to decide who lived.

As he approached the castle gates, he realized that the riders were not merely guards dispatched to meet Arthur. They were the king’s personal guard. And King Uther was at the head of the party, his back straight, his bearing regal astride the finest stallion in all of Camelot. How Arthur hadn’t recognized him before, he didn’t know. Perhaps his rage over Emrys had affected his vision.

“Sire,” Arthur said, dismounting from his horse to drop to one knee. “You honor me with your presence.”

“When I heard of your triumph, I was eager to see what you had conquered in the name of Camelot.”

That was Arthur’s signal to stand, and his squire was already on hand to help him back on his horse. “We have many fine spoils.”

“Including a prisoner, I hear.”

By his toes, Arthur vowed, though he did his best to smile. “Yes. His name is Emrys.”

“He is a fey?” Uther demanded.

“Yes. Though he has sworn his oath to me.”

“Fey can’t swear allegiance to anybody besides their queen.”

_ I was a prince once _ . Emrys’s calm words echoed through his mind. He had made his announcement so casually, as though there was nothing to fear from Arthur learning the truth. Did he think Arthur would be unable to draw the next logical conclusion? “This one can.”

“And you believe him?”

“Of course. Fey do not lie.”

“They withhold the truth and twist emotions to their own end,” Uther said bitterly.

“Yes, but they don’t lie. Emrys has repeatedly refused to break his oath to me.” Arthur took a deep breath. “He even agreed to seal the fairy mounds in Camelot, ensuring the kingdom’s safety.”

“But Morgana can return through any door.”

Arthur tilted his head, looking at his father curiously. He had just assumed that the big-mouthed idiot who had revealed Emrys would have surely told of Morgana's demise in the process. “Morgana is dead, sire. I slew her myself.”

Uther regarded him with wide eyes that softened and turned watery without warning. Arthur caught his breath, surprised by the glimpse of the man who lurked beneath the king’s impassive exterior. “You…you truly have killed her then?”

“Yes.”

“I feared it was perhaps a mistake.”

“Is that why you decided to meet me here?” Arthur asked.

“I tried to prepare myself for the possibility that…” Uther faded, his eyes darkening, and Arthur nearly reached out to take his arm.

“Sire? Father?”

Uther roused himself with a visible shake, his eyes hardening once again. “We will have a magnificent feast tonight in your honor. Please bring the fey to my private council room as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sire.”

Uther nodded and turned his horse around. The silent, watchful guards fell into step behind him, one by one, until they were riding back to the castle keep in a dignified, single-file line. Arthur’s relief was sharp as his blade, and he twisted his horse around, eager to tell Emrys the good news. He had no idea how to explain this sudden change in attitude, but Arthur didn’t trouble himself with that. Perhaps Uther was simply relieved now that he knew Morgana was no longer a threat to them and that Arthur was safe. Perhaps his hatred for the fey had been primarily motivated by his specific loathing of Morgana, and now that she was gone, Emrys could be assured of safety.

Arthur felt lighter at that thought. Keeping Emrys out of the dungeon would be nearly impossible without a change of heart from Uther. The speech he’d planned so carefully had been designed to soften his father’s stony heart, but perhaps that was no longer necessary at all. Perhaps he and Emrys would be able to work together without Uther’s interference, and the possibilities spiraling from that particular thought were almost enough to make him dizzy.

Arthur hoped his smile would be reassuring, but if anything, Emrys looked more worried. “What’s going on?”

“King Uther was waiting for me at the gates.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t give orders for you to be arrested. In fact, he wants to have a private audience with you.”

“Why?”

Arthur blinked at the question. “What do you mean why? Because there’s no other like you in Camelot. I’m sure he’s eager to meet you.”

“But he considers me an enemy of the kingdom,” Emrys pointed out.

“Not anymore. I explained that you have sworn your allegiance to him and Camelot. He knows what a fairy’s word means.”

It all seemed very simple to Arthur, but Emrys still didn’t look reassured. Perhaps once he actually spoke to Uther, he would feel better. And then Arthur would install him in the castle near his own quarters, and their real work could begin. It never occurred to him that Emrys should live anywhere except near him. Since the night Emrys had banished the guardian, Arthur felt it was his duty to keep Emrys close by at all times. It was not a feeling that Arthur wanted to think about too deeply. Because then he might be forced to question it, and Arthur didn’t know what was worse—learning the answer or learning there was no explanation for it at all.

“If my father does not wish to put you in chains now, then I can assure you, you’re safe from the dungeon.”

“What if he questions me and he doesn’t like my answers?”

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve questioned you many times. I’ve always liked your answers.”

Emrys’s lips twitched at that, and Arthur caught his breath, wondering if he would actually smile. Emrys’s smiles were rare things, Arthur had realized at some point. He wasn’t sure when or how he noticed, but then he had automatically started keeping track of Emrys’s smiles. It just seemed like the logical thing to do. That was another thing that Arthur didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about.

“Be that as it may, my lord, he might have a different set of criteria.”

“Trust me.” Arthur tilted his head. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

Arthur knew the answer to that, of course. There really was only one answer Emrys could give, considering the nature of their relationship. But Arthur still liked to hear it, because he knew Emrys meant it. And it was important that Emrys understand that Arthur truly intended to protect him.

“Does the king know about Mordred?”

“He didn’t mention him.”

“So he didn’t request Mordred’s presence?”

“No.”

“May I…that is, you mentioned your chambers earlier and I…”

Arthur frowned. “If you would like something from me, Emrys, you must request it.”

“I would feel better if Mordred was allowed to wait for me in your chambers, sire. But I understand that I have probably asked too much and…”

“Asked too much? How could that be when I made the offer? Of course Mordred is welcome to stay there until more suitable accommodations can be made.”

Instead of thanking him, as was appropriate, Emrys gave him a long, searching look. Like Arthur had said something completely unexpected and he was trying to figure out who this man before him was. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, not accustomed to the  _ weight _ of Emrys’s gaze. Nobody had ever dared to study the prince like that. Arthur was just about to protest when one of those rare smiles fluttered across Emrys’s face.

“You’re a very kind man, Arthur.”

If anything, Arthur’s confusion deepened. “Thank you.”

Emrys looked away from Arthur, his attention landing on the castle’s turrets. Whenever Arthur looked at his home, his heart swelled with pride and love. And maybe a little bit of longing. It wasn’t  _ his _ . Not yet. Not quite. But he still felt as though he was solely responsible for the kingdom’s safety. Ever since his father had installed him as head of the army, entrusting Arthur with the kingdom’s defense, he had taken his position very seriously. There was nothing as exhilarating as returning home victorious.

Arthur was forced to leave Emrys’s side and return to his place at the head of the column once they were within sight of the gates. The commoners would be lining the street to welcome him home, and it wouldn’t do if he was riding at the back of the line with the prisoners. Even if he hated to think of Emrys and Mordred as prisoners, since they emphatically were  _ not _ . But he couldn’t very well explain the nuances of the situation to his people. If Emrys was aware of the significance of his placement in the column, he never let on.

Arthur rode into Camelot with banners flying, feeling every inch the hero they heralded him as. It wasn’t until he saw their excited, adoring, and awed faces that it really hit him. The monster that had terrified them, and their parents and grandparents and  _ their _ grandparents was finally defeated. They weren’t just welcoming their prince back. They were welcoming the dawning of a new age, free of random skirmishes and bloody battles. Camelot could finally thrive as it always should have. He, Prince Arthur, had succeeded where everybody before him had failed. Including his own father.

Battle hardened knights did not cry. But Arthur didn’t bother to wipe away the curious moisture streaming from his eyes. His people cried their relief, and Arthur joined them.

*          *          *

Morgana’s court had been, in a word, glorious. Nothing but white marble and gold and glorious lights. It had always been full of her courtiers, and each one had been exceptionally beautiful. So beautiful in their queen’s court that a mortal man would have fallen dead at the sight of them. There was always music—a low, sweet hum that emanated from everything and nothing all at once. The jewels that lined Morgana’s crown had once been stars. Morgana had plucked them out of the night sky when she claimed her place as queen of the fey, and she added one to her crown with each successive battle. Everybody had existed in their natural state, creamy skin exposed to be honored and in honor of Morgana. Mortals would have called it paradise, and she would have laughed in rich amusement at something so ignorant. As lower being, mortals weren’t even capable of imagining paradise.

King Uther’s court did not even bear a passing resemblance to the splendor that Emrys had once known. They passed through the throne room and Emrys felt something like anger twist inside of him. Arthur would rule from this throne? He deserved better than that. He deserved so much more and Emrys did wish to give it to him. But he kept his comments to himself, mutely following the guards that led him through a heavy door into a smaller, well-lit chamber.

Emrys had met King Uther once before, many years before Arthur was born. Uther had been a young nobleman then, eager to fight and prove himself worthy on the battlefield. Emrys had been in the midst of his own private war and had no interest in killing Uther, even though Uther had seemed intent on ending Emrys’s life. The fight had been long and bloody, Emrys finally putting an end to it when he realized Uther was never going to stop pressing his attack. He was injured and pale, eyes exhausted, feet dragging. His reaction time was so slow, anybody could have sliced into his vulnerable left side. Emrys had simply stopped time, put himself a safe distance from Uther’s wrath, and waved his hand again. Uther had been mid-lunge, and when time began moving again, he fell flat on his face. Emrys had laughed—it hadn’t been very nice but it was better than killing him.

Now Emrys was strangely glad he’d chosen not to drive his sword through Uther’s throat that day.

Emrys hadn’t mentioned that to Arthur. He would have reconsidered that decision if he’d known that Uther remembered  _ him _ as clearly as Emrys remembered the former knight and present king. Emrys realized he’d been recognized as soon as Uther looked at him with narrow, thoughtful eyes. This was not going to be as easy as Arthur had assumed. Uther wouldn’t remember him as the fairy who let him live, he would remember Emrys as the fairy who got away. Emrys promptly dropped to one knee and bowed his head, not even risking a glimpse through his lashes until Uther acknowledged him. Arthur stood to the right and slightly behind Uther’s throne, but Emrys barely caught a glance of him before he was looking at the floor.

“What is your name, fairy?”

Emrys addressed the floor. “Emrys, your majesty.”

“Emrys, did you make war against Camelot?”

“No, your majesty.”

“And yet Arthur has brought you back from one of the bloodiest battles in the history of Camelot.”

“It was not my war, sire. I was compelled to fight, but I never had any desire to make war with humans.” Emrys didn’t know how much more plainly he could state that fact, but nobody ever seemed to believe him. Except Arthur. Emrys fervently hoped the prince kept his faith in him, because he was certain Uther was going to do everything in his power to harden Arthur’s heart.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Uther asked, his words brittle. He heard Arthur take a sharp breath to speak in protest, but Emrys answered quickly.

“I have offered my oath to your crown and kingdom, sire. I will never do anything to harm you, your family, or your subjects. Not for as long as I live.”

“Rise, fairy.”

Emrys pushed himself to his feet, resisting the urge to glance at Arthur’s face. He had been in enough courts to know that it was best to keep his eyes downcast, submission written in every line of his body. Even when he was actively scheming against Morgana, he always gave her the proper respect when she addressed him as the queen and not as his mother.

“It has been said that a fey’s oath cannot be broken. Even by death.”

“That is true.” Uther didn’t need Emrys’s confirmation, but it was the clear the king expected a response.

“You offer your oath now, and yet, you claim you were compelled to fight for Morgana. Which is true?”

“Both are true, sire. Morgana possessed something dear to me, and I could not retrieve it unless I participated in her siege.” Emrys had chosen his words carefully, and he silently begged Arthur not to mention Mordred. Whatever the king had planned for him—and it was clear he had something in mind—Emrys wanted to ensure Mordred would have no part in it. The only person he trusted with his child was Arthur himself. He had no reason to expect Uther would treat the young boy with kindness, much less respect.

“How do I know that you won’t be compelled to act against Camelot? Morgana must have had something precious indeed if she could make you fight against your conscience. There’s no telling how many of my men you killed.”

Emrys could tell him exactly how many human lives he’d taken. It was never something Emrys did lightly, and the guilt of each death lingered with him. Uther need only ask, and Emrys would give him all the details. But Uther never would ask, and even if Emrys volunteered the information, Uther wouldn’t believe him. Besides that, the only thing that mattered was the two lives he  _ didn’t _ take.

“I can only offer my solemn vow.”

Uther nodded, looking as wise and solemn as any good king. But Emrys could tell it was just an act. His eyes had a hint of excitement, like this was a particularly exciting contest or sport. “If only there were a way to prove your loyalty.”

Emrys swallowed. This was it then. He was sure that Arthur had no idea what was about to happen. He had been optimistic when he informed Emrys that Uther wanted to see him, and that optimism had been entirely genuine. Arthur was, at heart, a good man. He had a strong sense of honor and integrity, and he expected others to conform to the same high standards he set for himself—especially the king. But men were often petty, vindictive creatures. Arthur could not conceive of bringing Emrys low, of humiliating him now that the war was over. Uther, however, could conceive of nothing else. In fact, Emrys was almost sure that Uther believed this was  _ why _ Arthur had brought him back. To satisfy that base hunger for revenge, for humiliation dealt back one-hundred-fold.

“I will gladly do anything you command of me, sire.”

“The fey are a proud race. There are no prouder creatures in this realm or any realm. Isn’t that true?”

Even if it weren’t, Emrys had no choice but to nod. “It is indeed, sire.”

“But it is common wisdom that no race so proud could ever bow to a mortal man.”

_ I just did, you clot _ . “It is as you say, sire.”

“Then in that case, it’s best that your back become accustomed to the weight of servitude. Your spine needs to learn how to bend. I think a week in the stocks should do it.”

Emrys showed no outward reaction to that announcement, but Arthur exploded in outrage. “Father!”

_ Don’t cross the king, Arthur. Not right now. This is not a battle worth fighting. You are a warrior, you must recognize that _ . Emrys wished he could at least meet the prince’s eyes and convey his message, but he was rendered mute. It  _ did _ chafe to bow to a mortal king, especially when Emrys could feel the ghost of his own crown on his head. But in the long run, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. If this was necessary to win his place in Camelot and at Arthur’s side, then that was what he would do.

“There is no need to test his loyalty,” Arthur continued.

“Are you questioning my wisdom?” Uther snapped.

“No…no, sire. That’s not what I meant.”

“Good. Guards, take our new prisoner to the stocks.”

“Wait!”

Uther looked at his son with more than a hint of exasperation. “What is it?”

“You’re taking him now? He’s only just arrived after a long journey.”

Uther did not look moved. “Would you have me install him in the royal chambers and feed him sweets by hand before he’s sent to the stocks?”

“No, but it wouldn’t be remiss to give him  _ something _ for his stomach.”

“They’ll be throwing rotten food at him. Perhaps if he keeps his mouth open, he’ll get something to eat.”

Emrys had expected exactly that response, but Arthur looked positively  _ horrified _ at such disregard for Emrys’s health and needs. Uther gestured at the guards who brought Emrys in, and strong hands closed around his shoulders and forearms. He didn’t resist as they dragged him backward, but he didn’t look away from Arthur, either.  _ I’m fine. This is fine. There’s no need to be upset. Just do as you normally would _ .

Emrys had no way of knowing if Arthur got the message, but he didn’t strike his father or chase down the guards, so he must have understood on some level. A week in the stocks would not be pleasant, but it was far from the worst thing that could happen to him. The thought of Uther’s shocked face when he realized that the stocks had not bothered Emrys at all sustained him as the guards dragged him to the courtyard. Emrys began mentally counting the seconds until his release as soon as the chains were locked into place.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur was furious. Emrys could see it in the slant of his mouth and the way he held his shoulders. Every tense gesture, every stiff motion, betrayed his rage, and Emrys was just relieved that the anger wasn’t directed toward  _ him _ . Arthur was strong enough to kill Morgana, after all. No matter how fond Emrys grew of him, it was important to remember just what he was capable of. Emrys tried to offer reassurances, but it was difficult from his position and angle. Every time he attracted Arthur’s attention, something dark would move across his face and the anger would take hold again.

Emrys wasn’t the least upset—a fact which only seemed to make things worse for Arthur. Instead of being reassured by Emrys’s sanguine approach, he seemed offended by it.  _ Clearly _ , Arthur seemed to say with each angry gesture,  _ this is an insult that cannot be borne. How dare you be so calm? _

Emrys let Arthur pace and run his hands through his blond hair and rant about dottering old kings. He was inching dangerously close to treason, but Arthur had dismissed all the guards from the courtyard, and despite being in the center of the castle, they were alone. It would have been a nice, private moment, if Emrys wasn’t bent over and chained.

“Are you in pain?” Arthur asked every ten minutes or so, as if expecting a different answer.

“No, Arthur. I assure you I’m quite well.”

“How can you be? Do you want me to go get more food?”

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“But you only had bread.”

“Bread you were generous with. I found it to be very satisfying.” Emrys waited until Arthur was looking at him again before he slid his gaze sideways. “Have a seat. You’re making me nervous.”

“I can’t believe he’s done this. I can’t believe you’re putting up with it.”

“What other choice do I have? If I escape, I’ll have to leave Camelot, and I have no desire to do that. Besides, Uther’s pettiness doesn’t hurt me.”

“Being stuck in the stocks for a week will hurt you.”

“Morgana’s punishments were much more severe. This is almost pleasant in comparison. Sit down, please.”

Arthur sighed with frustration, but complied, dropping to the ground and leaning against the stock. Emrys sighed with relief—he hadn’t been kidding when he said Arthur was making him nervous. The last thing he wanted was the prince working up a good head of steam and then marching off to confront his father for his abysmal treatment of a being that enjoyed Arthur’s protection. The moonlight bounced off his hair and the sharp lines of his face, softening him despite his very real anger. He looked like he was too young to bear the weight of a kingdom. 

He looked like he was blessed.

“I just can’t believe he…” Arthur looked up before Emrys had a chance to look away. Their eyes clashed, and Emrys had no plausible deniability. He couldn’t really claim he hadn’t been staring at Arthur when he very clearly had been doing exactly that. “Wait a second.”

He pushed himself into a kneeling position and took a kerchief from his belt. Emrys frowned up at him in silent inquiry, and Arthur answered by wiping some of the rotten apple from his face. “This is beneath you.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Emrys’s mouth felt dry as Arthur continued to clean his face. He couldn’t remember the last time anybody had been so gentle with him. “To learn how to bend.”

“You kneel for me. I never had to go to these extremes.”

“But you’re not your father, Arthur.”

“Are you saying you  _ wouldn’t _ kneel for him?”

“No, I’m saying that he doesn’t have your wisdom.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “You shouldn’t talk like that. My father is a very wise king.”

“He’s a good king,” Emrys agreed. “Despite Morgana’s best attempts, Camelot has flourished in the past twenty years. It seems like his people are healthy and cared for. But he’s not wise like you are, Arthur.”

Arthur continued cleaning Emrys’s face with the corner of his kerchief, delicate over the bruises forming on his cheeks and brow. Rotten or not, getting hit in the face with fruit  _ hurt _ . “This is stupid. You can’t survive a whole week of this.”

“I can. I promise you.”

“I wish I could stay out here with you and keep you company.”

Emrys could tell that Arthur was completely sincere with that wish. Did Arthur realize how strange that was? Did he even know how weird it was for him to be there at all? While Emrys was locked in the stocks, he was supposed to be below Arthur’s notice. If Uther caught him kneeling in front of Emrys— _ kneeling _ like a commoner—and wiping mushy apple from his face, he would have a royal fit.

“Thank you, but there’s no need. I’m not alone out here.”

Arthur arched his brow. “The guards don’t count. They’re not allowed to talk to you.”

Emrys chuckled. “That’s not what I meant. I can’t be lonely when I have the wind singing to me and the stars chattering away.”

“The stars?” Arthur tilted his head back, exposing his throat as he stared up at the glittering sky. “What do they chatter about? Anything interesting?”

“Yes. All kinds of things.”

“Like what?”

“The stars know everything. Past, present, and future. They like to tease me with what they know. They think it’s funny.”

“You’re talking about them like they’re your mates,” Arthur said, sitting back on his heels. It would be nice to touch him. Emrys wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but he knew it was true. It would be  _ very _ nice to touch Arthur.

“They are. In a way. Though they’re horrible gossips.”

“Do they talk about me?”

“They talk about a great prince.”

Arthur smiled at that. “What do they say?”

“I’m not a fortune teller, Arthur.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to read my fortune. You’re the one who said the stars were talking about me. Why did you bring it up if you didn’t want to tell me?”

Emrys could have pointed out that Arthur was the one who asked if the stars ever spoke of him, but he decided he didn’t want to annoy Arthur further. “What stars were you born under?”

“The sign of the virgin.”

“So you’re chaste and fair?” Emrys teased, hoping to draw the conversation away from Arthur’s fate. The stars couldn’t stop themselves from sharing, but Emrys knew it wasn’t his place to tell Arthur his destiny.

He expected Arthur to protest that—at least the  _ chaste _ part since he was fair of face. But Arthur merely averted his eyes, and his silence told Emrys more than any words could.

“Really?” Emrys finally said.

“Yes. I did go to a fortune teller once. She told me that if I waited and spilled my seed in the proper container…” Arthur’s face twisted. “Those were her words, not mine. Anyway, if I waited, then my kingdom would be guaranteed and I would be rewarded for eternity.”

Emrys blinked. “That is…quite the promise.”

“I know. It seems too good to be true, and I was young at the time. For all I know, Father paid her to tell me exactly that so I didn’t muddle the royal bloodline with a bunch of bastards. But…” He folded the kerchief and tucked it into his belt again. “There seemed to be something to it. Besides, I don’t really have the time.”

Emrys offered an understanding nod, but knew that if Arthur really wanted to give some girl a tumble, he could have made time for it. That was the one thing mortals always seemed to make time for.

“So…” Arthur glanced up, drawing Emrys’s attention heavenward. “I was wondering what they had to say about  _ that _ .”

“The fortune teller was right,” Emrys said softly, hoping Arthur had the good sense not to press for details.

“How will I know who the proper…person is?”

“You’ll know when the time is right.”

Arthur considered that for a moment and then nodded, like he hadn’t expected anything else. Emrys hated to be so cryptic with him, but it really  _ wasn’t _ his place to explain destinies and reveal the future. Besides, the answer might very well frighten Arthur and that was the last thing he wanted. And sometimes, some very few times, the stars were wrong. They certainly hadn’t foreseen Morgana’s death.

“Yeah, I guess I will. Do you need anything?”

“No. Thank you for…everything.”

“I wish you were thanking me for talking sense into my father.”

“I don’t even want you to try. He needs this, Arthur. He…needs to remind everybody of their place now. Everything in his world has changed quite suddenly.”

“What do you mean?”

As soon as Arthur uttered the question, Emrys realized that he really  _ didn’t _ understand. Of course he was angry. From where he was standing, Uther was behaving like a mad man without any rhyme or reason. How could he accept Emrys’s entirely unjust punishment when he didn’t even understand what prompted Uther to hand it down.

“I mean,” Emrys said slowly, “the power has shifted in Camelot. You have accomplished something that no man before you ever could. You have, by virtue of saving your father’s kingdom, proven yourself to be stronger than he is. You’re a…”  _ Threat _ . “Rival now.”

Emrys had thought he explained it gently, but Arthur’s flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes indicated otherwise. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but—”

“I’ll have my squire fetch dinner for you tomorrow,” Arthur said, pushing himself to his feet.

“Arthur, wait…”

But the prince was already gone, marching away with all the anger he’d brought with him to the courtyard.

Emrys didn’t see Arthur again for three days. By the second day, the peasants had lost interest in pelting him with rotten food, and they seemed far more inclined to talk to him. Emrys didn’t mind. He learned a lot about Camelot that way, including the fact that most of the commoners believed the king’s taxes would ruin them for the winter. A common complaint regardless of the kingdom, but Emrys heard true fear in their voices when they spoke of it. At night, when he was left alone, he entertained himself with the wind and the earth and the animals that snuck out of their hiding places to sniff at the stranger in their midst. He could have opened the locks and stretched his back, but he was determined to be as stubborn about this as Uther had been.

On the fourth night of his incarceration, Arthur returned bearing gifts. He offered honey cake and candied fruit in apology, and Emrys accepted it graciously even though an apology wasn’t necessary. He knew he would get under Arthur’s skin with the comment about his father. That was why he had said it.

“How is Mordred?” Emrys asked, once Arthur was seated beside him.

“Good. As I promised you, he’s been living in my chambers. The only person who knows he’s there is Amelia, and she’s loyal to me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you had to go on a short journey for the king, but you would be back soon. Amelia has been keeping him entertained with my old books and toys.”

“Thank you.”

“I think it’s the least I can do, given the situation. I’ve been busy, you know.”

“Yes, I assumed you must have been.”

“I mean…that’s why I haven’t been around. In case you thought it was something else.”

“I know you have many duties and responsibilities. I’m honestly surprised that you took the time to visit me at all.”

“I’m a little surprised by that myself. It’s not as though I make a practice of visiting prisoners. But—”

“You wanted to have me read your fortune?” Emrys asked lightly.

Arthur shook his head. “I feel like I’ve been all…confused since the moment we first spoke. You surprised me when you agreed to my conditions of surrender, and you surprised me again when you claimed Mordred as your son. You haven’t stopped surprising me since. Even when you’re nowhere near me, I find myself thinking about you and—”

“That’s just because I’m fey,” Emrys said airily. “It’s natural to be interested in new things.”

Arthur seemed to consider that, chin resting in his palm and elbow resting on his knee. After several long seconds he said, “No, I don’t think it’s that.”

“What do you think it is?”

Arthur tilted his head up. He looked so young. Like a boy. Emrys had become accustomed to thinking of Arthur as an equal, his match in some ways. It was almost painful to remember that Arthur’s entire lifespan was just a small measure of what Emrys could expect—of what he’d already lived. Arthur had probably forgotten that, too. Perhaps it would be easier for both of them if Emrys wore an older face. One that was more in line with his true age and experience. But he dismissed that notion when Arthur grinned at him.

“When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

*          *          *

Arthur felt more than a hint of pride when Emrys stood in front of Uther with his spine straight and his shoulders back. He still looked properly respectful, and he still cast his eyes to the floor in perfect deference, but Uther had not managed to break Emrys. Arthur knew it was illogical, but he was pleased by that. He liked having a man of such obvious strength and spirit on his side. Even if the being in question wasn’t really a  _ man _ at all.

The week had dragged by until Arthur had been angry at time itself. He hadn’t voiced a single complaint, though. If the week was so awful for him, it must have been one hundred times worse for Emrys. It seemed terribly disrespectful to whine about how slow the days were when Emrys was stuck in the stocks with no promise of relief or break from the monotony. But he had withstood it all with a smile. Like he knew he just needed to survive the bad bits and he would be amply rewarded. Arthur truly hoped that would be the case. Not that he could explain  _ why _ Emrys deserved a great reward.

“On your knees,” Uther ordered.

There was the briefest hint of defiance. So brief that Arthur thought it might have just been a trick of the early morning light. Especially since Emrys gracefully sank to the ground, his hands held behind his back as he waited for further instruction. Unfortunately, Uther seemed to have noticed it as well.

“You don’t want to kneel in front of your new sovereign?” Uther asked.

“I’m happy to kneel in front of you, my lord.”

“Come here.” Uther pointed to the ground at his feet. “Do not stand.”

Arthur bit his tongue to keep himself from protesting. His father was not a patient man at the best of times. He would not tolerate another outburst from Arthur, even if it meant Arthur choked on his own unspoken words. Emrys gamely followed his order, approaching the king on his knees. Slowly.

“Is this difficult for you?” Uther asked, his tone almost friendly.

“No, sire. It is never difficult to do your bidding.”

“Don’t lie, Emrys. I can see that it’s difficult for you. But I require all of my servants to walk on their knees from time to time. You shall practice.”

Arthur’s hands curled into fists. He had seen Uther make some pretty surprising decisions and ruthless demands. His father was capable of both cruelty and almost boundless compassion. He was often unpredictable, his temper getting the better of his common sense. He did act rashly on occasion, though Arthur had noticed that his tendency to behave that way had decreased as Arthur got older. But in all the years he’d held court with his father, he had never seen the king take such great pleasure out of humiliating somebody.

That he was taking pleasure from the sight of Emrys on his knees was not in doubt. Arthur could see it in his smile and the bright, almost crazy light in his green eyes. If Arthur could see it, then surely Emrys could. Which only made the humiliation worse. Arthur didn’t want to be watching this, but he knew Uther would turn on him next if he dared to look away.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You shall spend the day crossing the courtyard on your knees. The guards will see that you don’t stop for any reason and that nobody will molest you during your travels.”

And Emrys simply bowed his head again, like Uther had bestowed something great on him. “Yes, your majesty.”

Arthur could feel his mouth twisting into a grimace. What Uther demanded could  _ destroy _ Emrys’s knees. He may not be able to walk again for days. Not to mention how humiliating that would be for him. The same people who gathered around to chuck fruit at his head would circle him again, this time laughing and jeering. Arthur’s chest tightened at the thought, and his temples throbbed with fresh anger. He had never felt so utterly powerless. Emrys had sworn an oath to Arthur, pledged his  _ life _ to Arthur, and Arthur couldn’t even protect his body from Uther’s vindictiveness. He couldn’t even speak in Emrys’s defense. In all his life, he’d never been at odds with his father. But as the guards dragged Emrys away, Arthur couldn’t help but feel that irreparable damage was being done.

When Arthur was finally excused from the throne room, he went directly to the courtyard, prepared for the worst. What he saw there stopped him short, and his shocked brain desperately looked around for some sort of explanation. Instead of jeering and laughter, the crowd had formed two respectful lines across the width of the yard. Emrys passed between them, his path open and clear. The guards stood on either end, but they didn’t touch him or hit at him with their staffs to keep him moving. At one point, a child emerged from the crowd to walk with Emrys on his long journey to the end of the line. Once there, the girl gently squeezed his shoulder and smiled. Emrys smiled back.

The child wasn’t the only one who showed him kindness. The commoners pressed skins of water in his hand, and as Arthur watched, somebody actually gave him an apple. Emrys never stopped moving, clearly determined to follow the king’s orders to the letter, but he did smile at each gift and thank the giver with clear sincerity.

The people loved him. Far from humiliating Emrys, Uther had found a way to endear him to all of his people. Arthur was a prince bred from a long line of kings and he didn’t need an explanation of what  _ that _ meant. Right now, he only had the people’s love. But what about their loyalty? Would they be willing to stand behind Emrys against their king?

Arthur shook his head. Of course it wouldn’t come to that. Emrys wasn’t in Camelot to raise an army, after all. But the thought was more than a little disquieting. Especially given his own current rage at Uther. What would  _ he _ be willing to do in defense of Emrys? How far was Uther going to push this? Did he even have any idea of what was happening under his very nose? Arthur would guess that he didn’t.

He took his place at the end of the line, positioning himself so Emrys would see him as soon as he lifted his head. When their eyes met, Emrys smiled. Something inside Arthur shifted, and though he was still angry, it no longer felt like an impossible weight on his shoulders.  _ This won’t last forever _ , Emrys’s smile said.  _ You just need to be patient, sire. _

Arthur nodded, accepting the message. He just needed to figure out what, exactly, he was waiting for.

At the end of the long day, Emrys could barely move. Arthur’s impulse was to lift the other man in his arms and carry him up to his chambers, but there were many reasons why that would not be appropriate. So he did the next best thing and ordered the guards who had monitored Emrys’s progress to carry him up to the chambers next to Arthur’s. They obeyed without question, their faces carefully blank, not even hinting at what they might think of Arthur’s strange request. Emrys muttered something, possibly an order to put him down, but the order was roundly ignored.

Servants were dispatched in all directions, carrying orders for a tub with fresh water, dinner and wine from the kitchen, bandages and salve, and clean clothes. Emrys watched them bustle around him with a slightly bemused expression, like he couldn’t believe so many people were going to so much trouble for him. When Emrys’s eyes met his, he smiled, and Arthur knew he was supposed to smile back. But he wasn’t in the proper mood for that. Even knowing that Emrys would have the chance to eat and rest didn’t completely dampen his foul mood.

Emrys allowed the servants to undress him once the tub was filled with heated water, and he didn’t protest when they helped him bend his long limbs into the small space. Arthur knew he should go and give Emrys his privacy—he certainly wasn’t needed there since he wasn’t going to bathe Emrys, or tend to his battered knees. And his knees were terrible. There were bruises from the hard stones all the way down his shins, and the skin had been shredded until it was nothing but a bleeding pulp. The water turned a murky shade of pink as Emrys straightened his legs, but if he was in pain, his face didn’t show it.

He didn’t protest until one of the servants tried to wash his back. “Wait. Please stop.”

The servant froze, looking from Emrys to Arthur, her eyes wide with fear. Her fear of displeasing Emrys warred with her obvious fear over disobeying Arthur, and Arthur finally had no choice but to give a curt nod. “You all may go.”

The sound of Arthur’s voice prompted them to move before they even had a chance to process his words. Within seconds, every single servant was gone, leaving Arthur and Emrys alone with plates of untouched food, pinkish water, and the crackle of the fireplace.

“I doubt this is what your father had in mind when he said I needed to learn how to kneel,” Emrys finally said, softly amused. “Thank you. Once again, you’ve proven yourself to be generous.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Arthur asked, not moving away from the door.

“Yes. It’ll take a little bit of time, but I heal faster than humans.” Emrys tilted his head, his blue eyes pinning Arthur in place. Why did he have to look at Arthur like that? It made him feel like the whole shape of the world had changed. “Why are you so angry?”

“I can’t believe you even need to ask.”

“I already told you that you don’t need to be angry on my behalf. Didn’t I?”

“We should be focused on the fact that Morgana is dead, and instead he’s playing ridiculous games with you. I shouldn’t even be  _ saying _ these sorts of things about him. I shouldn’t even be thinking about questioning him.”

“Then don’t. Don’t question him. Don’t be angry. He has a childish desire to show me how powerful he is, and I don’t mind.”

“Don’t you have any pride?”

Arthur had meant the question sincerely, but Emrys just laughed. “Uther hasn’t even come close to bruising my pride. He’s…insignificant to me.”

Arthur drew himself up, his shoulders tensing as he automatically took offense to the words. “He is your  _ king _ .”

“You are,” Emrys said mildly. “If you wished to hurt me, I’m sure you would succeed. But all of this is pointless posturing. Morgana once imprisoned me in a tree for fifty years in a fit of rage. That was far worse than staying in the stocks for a week.”

“A tree?”

“She was very cross with me. She intended to keep me there forever, but I managed to escape,” Emrys said absently, his attention focused on his oozing knees.

“Do you need any help with that?”

“You sent the servants away.”

“I meant…” Arthur stopped himself. The castle walls themselves might crumble if the prince lowered himself to bathing a servant. But it had been so natural to offer his assistance. The words had just flown out of his mouth without a second of hesitation. “I could call them back in.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

Arthur knew he needed to leave, but he still lingered near the door, unable to pull himself away from the sight of Emrys in the tub and firelight. Beads of water rolled down his shoulders and the side of his arm, and Arthur was close enough to see the goose bumps spreading over his skin. He felt another bizarre urge to offer his assistance—this time he wanted to build up the fire and chase the chill from the room.

“Is there anything else you would like from me, sire?” Emrys asked evenly. It might have been Arthur’s imagination, but he thought heard the lightest stress on  _ sire _ .

“No. I was just going to say that Mordred has already been put to bed. If you would like me to wake him…” Yet  _ another _ request instead of an order, but at least Arthur could comfort himself with the reminder that Mordred was Emrys’s concern and as the boy’s father he should have final say on where Mordred slept.

“If he’s asleep, please don’t disturb him. May I check on him in the morning?” The question was oddly stilted, as though Arthur wasn’t the only one having a hard time remembering his proper place.

“Of course. As soon as you’re ready to see him.”

“Thank you.”

There was nothing left to say after that. No more excuses to keep Arthur rooted to the spot. He was the prince, he didn’t  _ need _ an excuse. He could stand in any room he wanted for as long as he liked, and Uther was the only one who could demand an explanation—and truth be told, Uther probably wouldn’t care to. But Arthur still felt like he was encroaching and couldn’t really justify his presence. So he bid Emrys a good night and ducked out of the room, his mind racing, confusion warring with anger and something else. Something much more startling.

When Arthur finally fell asleep that night, he was still thinking of Emrys’s golden wet skin.

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Uther continued his game for another month. Emrys accepted each new order with calm grace, while Arthur stood to the side, becoming more, rather than less, enraged. It was almost worse that Emrys didn’t seem to care. Perhaps Arthur wouldn’t have to be so angry on Emrys’s behalf if he would show even a flash of his own irritation. But he never did. He would merely nod his head and bow low at the waist, seemingly impervious to any humiliation designed by a lowly mortal. Arthur’s thoughts often turned back to Emrys’s casual mention of the fifty years he spent imprisoned in a tree. It was practically a mortal lifetime. Uther was like a petulant child beating his fists against a brick wall—the wall didn’t care and it only resulted in bruised and battered knuckles.

Emrys spent a week sleeping in the stables. Uther had sneered at him, bidding him good luck with the fleas. The fleas, of course, never touched Emrys. He bedded down in hay that was made sweeter by his presence, and Arthur had sneaked down on more than one night to check on the fey, only to hear Emrys talking pleasantly with the horses, the dogs, the stable boys. He spent another week in the dungeons and may or may not have befriended every rat that scurried across the floor and stole food from the prisoner’s plates. For an entire week, the kitchen was ordered to feed Emrys nothing but slop, and even in the privacy of his own room he’d refused Arthur’s offer for better fare. If the king wanted him to eat slop and refuse, then he would. That week had nearly driven Arthur  _ mad _ .

But that was nothing compared to the impotent fury that washed through him at Uther’s final order. Lord Mannix and his daughter, the Lady Guinevere, would be arriving to court that night. A fact that would have been driving Arthur to distraction any other time, but had barely registered in his mind until the actual day they were due to arrive. Uther had summoned Emrys early in the afternoon, while the castle servants rushed back and forth in a general uproar of excitement. This was to be no routine visit from a noble. This was going to be very different, and even though nobody discussed it, everybody knew it. Including Arthur.

“Sir Mannix is one of my most trusted friends. He hails from Devonshire. He owns a substantial manor and runs it very successfully. It is a cause for celebration whenever he visits my court.”

Emrys didn’t respond. No response was necessary.

“Now he comes to feast with us and celebrate the death of Morgana. I’m going to make a gift of you to Lord Mannix.”

Emrys and Arthur tensed at the same time, but Uther held up a hand, staving off any potential protest.

“I am well aware that Arthur intends for you to serve him. But it occurs to me that you truly have no concept of what it takes to be a proper servant. Lord Mannix is a very exacting man. He will know how to train you so that you’re finally suitable to be in the Crown Prince’s service. You will be presented to him tonight at the banquet.”

Arthur was still trying to sort out all of the very many reasons he hated this idea when Emrys bowed and murmured, “Your majesty.”

Uther gestured, indicating Emrys was dismissed. He turned smartly and marched out of the room with a regal bearing. Perhaps that was why Uther couldn’t resist devising new humiliations. He wanted to see Emrys’s spirit broken. Arthur could have told him that was never going to happen, even if Uther dedicated the rest of his life to the quest. Arthur didn’t wait for Uther to dismiss him or request his leave. He caught Emrys in the antechamber, and this time he saw a flash of anger in Emrys’s dark blue eyes. The sight of it almost cheered Arthur.

“Tell me about this Lord Mannix,” Emrys demanded in a tone that would have gotten anybody else flogged within an inch of his life.

“He and my father are great friends,” Arthur began slowly, casting around for the right details to reveal and the ones he needed to hide. “He is known for being quite firm with the servants.”

“What else is he known for?” Emrys pressed.

“There are rumors—”

“If he and the king are indeed great friends then I’m not interested in rumors. What more do you know of him?”

Arthur had never heard that tone in Emrys’s voice before, and he was fascinated by it. He didn’t dare hold the answer back to provoke another sharp retort, but that just contributed to his fascination. This Emrys was accustomed to having every question answered, every demand met, and it was impossible to imagine him sharing a bed of straw with the fleas and rats.

“He…indulges in certain…appetites with his servants,” Arthur finally said, a flush traveling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“He’s a predator,” Emrys said flatly.

“Yes.”

“And am I to guess that he doesn’t particularly care whether his target is receptive or not?”

Arthur could only nod miserably. This was worse than anything Uther had done. Ever. In Arthur’s entire life. This was going to keep him awake and restless and angry for the duration of Mannix’s stay in the castle. Emrys began walking, giving Arthur no choice but to hurry and catch up with him. If the guards thought it strange to see their prince chase after a servant, their faces didn’t betray them.

“Just because there are rumors doesn’t mean that—” Arthur started.

“You know exactly what it means.”

Yes, Arthur did. And when he thought of Mannix touching Emrys’s smooth skin—the skin that Arthur was beginning to think of quite possessively and obsessively—something hot and slippery twisted in his stomach. He couldn’t even touch Emrys casually. There were no friendly touches or claps on the shoulders, and Mannix would be able to reach for Emrys, to  _ order _ Emrys, anytime he wanted.

“You don’t have to do this,” Arthur said instead.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you can…”

Emrys’s lips thinned. “What, Arthur? What do you think Uther will do in the face of blatant disobedience? From a fey, no less? Do you think he’ll send me out for another night in the stables or do you think he’ll kill me? And I can’t do anything to him. You’ve made sure of that.”

It was no less than the truth, but the easily flung words found their marks right in his chest. He couldn’t have done anything else. Of course he couldn’t have. But Arthur still felt more than a twinge of regret when he remembered how carefully he had extracted Emrys’s promise. Not just to  _ him _ , but to the crown. Not just to Camelot, but to all their future generations. And Emrys had given that promise so easily. Why had he agreed? But then, what else could he have done?

“How long will Sir Mannix and his daughter be staying here?” Emrys asked.

Arthur swallowed. “Until after the wedding.”

That brought Emrys up short. “You’re getting married? To the Lady Guinevere?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

_ What business of it is yours? You’re a servant, Emrys. I don’t have to explain  _ anything _ to you _ . Which was absolutely true. The words positively burned into his mind with their righteousness. But Arthur could no more say that than he could order Emrys to be flogged. He didn’t understand why, and he didn’t have the energy to sort it out. It was easier to just tell Emrys the truth.

“I’ve been betrothed to Guinevere for so long that I don’t even think about it anymore. My marriage has been an inevitability since I was a child.” Arthur shrugged. “It didn’t occur to me to mention it.”

“When?”

“In three months. On my twenty-fifth birthday.”

Emrys sucked his breath in sharply, balled his fists at his side, and began walking again. Arthur watched him for a moment, wondering which upset Emrys more. Of course, it would have to be his ordered service to Sir Mannix. Arthur shook his head at himself. Why would Emrys be upset that he was betrothed? He was getting stupid. And now Mannix and Guinevere would be arriving within hours, he didn’t even have the chance to go for a good hunt or practice with his knights.

“I’m sorry, Emrys. I’m going to figure out a way to fix this. I promise you.”

“Arthur—”

“I am. This isn’t right.”

“Arthur, I appreciate that. But I don’t want you to cross the king on my behalf.”

“I know you don’t. And I didn’t mind biting my tongue when it was just a week in the stables but—”

“Yes, you did.” Emrys stopped again and reached out to take Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur stiffened at the contact, but didn’t push Emrys’s hand away. “You’ve been angry over every minute of this.”

“He has been behaving most—”

“I know,” Emrys said softly, cutting Arthur off before he could say anything he truly regretted. “And I appreciate that you’ve wanted to fight for me, even if you were unable to. But I  _ am _ just a servant, sire.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve never been just a servant to me. We’re…we…that night…”

Emrys continued to gaze at him, offering absolutely no help. Not even a glint of recognition in his eyes. “What night?”

“The night in the woods. With the guardian. Something happened that night, Emrys. I felt it. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t.”

Emrys sighed and finally broke eye contact, looking down to his scuffed boots. “Of course I did. Of course I felt it.”

“I know what your place in my service is going to be,” Arthur said.

“What?”

“My advisor.”

“Arthur—”

“Are you going to question me?” The question sounded hollow, given the liberties Arthur had already allowed.

“Uther will not like that.”

“I don’t care.”

And he really didn’t. In Uther’s mad attempts to humiliate Emrys, he’d demonstrated to Arthur that Emrys really  _ wasn’t _ a servant. He had no business bowing and scraping and kissing hems. It was wrong. And good God, if he ever dared to utter  _ those _ words in his father’s presence, he would be executed for treason. Uther would hand down the order and have him on the chopping block before the sun set. Not just because Uther didn’t like anybody questioning his judgment—though he didn’t—but because of the implication that it was wrong for a  _ fey _ to bow to a  _ mortal _ . As though Emrys’s servitude had truly upset the natural order of things.

“Sometimes, Arthur, I don’t know if you’re making things better or worse.”

Arthur blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…it means I want to hate you for putting me in this position. I want to blame you for every uncomfortable second, every insult, every ache and pain. But then you’re so defiant, so righteous and sure. And I remember that there’s nothing Uther could ask of me that I wouldn’t gladly give.”

Arthur opened his mouth, but he was too stunned to speak. He didn’t even know what he could say to that. Emrys apparently didn’t need to hear anything in response, because he gave Arthur’s shoulder a light squeeze and then turned to keep walking, his fists no longer white-knuckled with fury.

*          *          *

Sir Mannix and Lady Guinevere arrived with great pomp and circumstance. Guinevere was clearly a favorite with the commoners, and they lined the streets to greet their future queen. She rode a chestnut horse and wore a beautiful green dress that set off her eyes. Her dark hair fell in long curls down her back, the sides braided away from her face and the rest allowed to hang loosely. Her features were as fine as Emrys’s, her eyes as sure and knowing, and she didn’t resemble her father in the slightest, in her coloring or her demeanor. Emrys stood on the battlements with Arthur, watching the long, slow approach as the huge party wound through the valley toward the castle.

They were both silent. Arthur was probably distracted by thoughts of his impending matrimony, but the purpose of Mannix’s visit to the court wasn’t even on Emrys’s mind. He was too distracted by the king they were traveling to visit. Arthur hadn’t realized the implications of Uther’s latest order, and Emrys was actually glad for that. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s what fueled his decision to make Emrys an advisor, elevating him above almost everybody else in the court. Maybe he realized it meant that Uther  _ knew _ he could trust Emrys but that trust meant nothing to him. If he couldn’t trust Emrys, he would never be foolish enough to trust Mannix’s care to Emrys’s hands.

“She’s very beautiful,” Emrys said softly.

“Yes. She always has been.”

“Forgive me, sire, but you don’t exactly sound like you’re happy about that.”

“It’s not that I’m not happy,” Arthur said. “Of course I’m happy Father didn’t have me betrothed to a troll or something. But sometimes I wish he’d given me a choice.”

“Who would you choose?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never given it any thought. I don’t even know what it feels like to  _ want _ to be with somebody.”

Emrys tilted his head. “You’ve never desired anybody?”

“Not really.”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve managed to keep your vow of chastity.”

“I would be able to keep any vow I made, regardless of the situation,” Arthur informed him.

“Yes, I believe you would try. But most mortals I’ve met, not to mention the fey, have a hard time remembering promises they’ve made when it comes to desire.”

“What’s it like?” Arthur asked lightly, as though he was asking about dinner the night before.

“Do you mean desire or love? Because they aren’t the same.”

“Both. Either.”

“Desire is…” Emrys stopped, thinking of Vivienne’s strange smile and calm strength. Then he thought of Arthur’s eyes and the way his hair shone like gold in the sun. “It’s like a punch in the gut. It hurts, but not in a bad way. You can’t think of anything except possessing the person you want. It distracts you and drives you mad until you’re convinced you’ll never be sane again if you don’t get what you want.”

“I have a hard time imagining you being like that,” Arthur said. “You don’t seem like you’d get that worked up over anything.”

“And yet I have a mortal son.”

“So that’s how it happened? You saw a fair maiden wandering through the woods and you felt that punch in the gut? Nine months later, there was Mordred?”

“More or less.”

“I thought the story would be more interesting than that.”

“Why?”

“Because Mordred is so…unique. I thought the story would be more like something a bard would sing about.”

“How do you know bards don’t sing about me and Vivienne?”

“Usually their stories are slightly more interesting.”

Emrys smiled thinly. “Mordred isn’t unique.”

“He’s half-fey. I’d say that counts as unique.”

“Most of the children in your kingdom are half or partly fey.”

Arthur blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Humans are fascinated by fey. It is not difficult to seduce a mortal to coupling, and that coupling results in a child more often than not. Sometimes, the fey will steal their children back from their mothers. Surely you knew this.”

“I knew women were frightened of the fey and there are stories of changelings once or twice a year, but I had no idea that…I mean, nobody ever told me the fey were taking their  _ own _ children.”

“Who would admit to it? Most mortals hate the folk and with good reason. Nobody would admit to having sex with one. Or, even worse, loving one.”

“Did…were you and Vivienne…did you love her?”

Emrys almost smiled at how shy Arthur sounded. He was often surprised by the fact that Arthur had bested Morgana, but never more than at times like these. He was a fearsome warrior, but he was still so innocent in other ways. But then, he didn’t doubt most people would be more successful without the distraction of relationships and all that chaos that came with one.

“I did. We were very happy in the time we had together. Which is always too limited when you love a mortal.”

“Then why bother with it?”

“Sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

Arthur sighed at that and looked out at the approaching party. Emrys wondered if he should mention that Guinevere was one of those not-quite-so-rare half-fey children, but decided it wasn’t his place to say. Especially given the court’s distrust and hatred toward the fey. The revelation might save Arthur from a marriage he didn’t necessarily want, but at what cost? What revenge would Uther extract? What sort of punishment would he mete out? It wasn’t a stretch to say this sort of thing could lead to a war. Arthur was a good prince. Emrys doubted he’d want his subjects to die in a war that was sparked because twenty years earlier, Sir Mannix fell in love with a fairy.

“This will probably be the last time we can talk like this,” Arthur finally said. “Mannix will want you to sleep…in his chambers. We can’t speak freely at court. I can’t even acknowledge you.”

“It’s only three months,” Emrys said, automatically trying to soothe Arthur.

But Arthur didn’t take it that way. Emrys was beginning to learn Arthur’s little tells. The most obvious was when something upset him. He pulled back and tensed, as if that extra inch of space he cleared made all the difference to his well-being. Emrys could almost see the wall that went up around him reflected in the hardness of his eyes.

“I’ll leave you to prepare for the evening,” Arthur said stiffly. “The king will expect you in the banquet hall before the start of dinner.”

Emrys wanted to call him back, but it was better to let him walk away. If he was angry at Emrys, then maybe three months wouldn’t seem like such a burden. And maybe he’d be more concerned with his future bride and less concerned over Emrys. Which was how it should be. But he still kept his attention locked on Arthur’s back, watching him walk away until he was out of sight. Arthur never once faltered in his stride and didn’t look back either. Emrys couldn’t sort through the tangle of emotions in his chest, but one did stand out sharper than all the rest. He was strangely, inexplicably proud of him.

Once Arthur disappeared from sight, Emrys looked down and realized Mannix’s party was right below him. His sharp eyes were able to distinguish more details at this distance, and he realized Guinevere didn’t just look like a fairy. She looked like her mother, Sibley. Emrys remembered her well from Morgana’s court, though he couldn’t say that he remembered seeing Guinevere before. Perhaps her father had claimed her as a baby and bound her to the mortal realm.

They passed the gate into the courtyard, disappearing from Emrys’s sight. Finding himself completely alone, he looked out over the lower town, and then to the villages beyond the castle walls, and beyond the valley and the mountains. He looked as far as he could over the land, and no matter where he turned his attention, he found peace. There were no battles brewing, and the villages that’d been hit again and again by the wars were finally beginning to recover. Because of Arthur.

Emrys kept that in mind as he descended to the keep. He went to his chambers first and changed his clothes—Arthur had provided him with a rather rich wardrobe. Perhaps to gall Uther. He’d been in the habit of wearing the most modest of his options, but not that night. For the banquet, he would choose something suitable for a prince. A wave of his hand made it suitable for a king. He risked Uther’s wrath by wearing something so obviously above his station, but he risked Uther’s wrath simply by existing.

*          *          *

Emrys attracted attention. Emrys attracted a great deal of attention as he entered the great hall. First, it was the servants, jumping at the sight of him, rushing to his side in fear that he was a member of Mannix’s party that they had overlooked somehow. The knights at the lower table noticed the commotion first, and their attention was drawn to the strange looking man in the fine clothes, asking themselves whether he was the one who Uther sent to the stocks for a week. Gradually, the diners at the middle tables turned their heads, casually glancing over to see what the ruckus was about, but not looking away again. Finally, the king, his son, and their honored guests were forced to find out what had captured everybody’s rapt attention.

He felt Arthur’s gaze land on him first, and it was all he could do to stop himself from meeting it. He wasn’t breaking any rules of protocol with his clothes—not technically, though everybody heard the statement loud and clear—and he wanted to keep it that way. So he ignored the prince in favor of bowing to Uther, bending so low at the waist that his hat almost fell off. He knew Guinevere was staring at him, too. Even if she’d never been to Morgana’s court, she would still know him. Like called to like, and he could feel her seeping into his skin.

“Who is this handsome young man?” Mannix asked.

Emrys kept his eyes averted, waiting for Uther to choke out an answer. Now he hoped Arthur understood why it was so important to play by Uther’s rules. The entire court would now witness Uther with his wrists tightly bound, unable to control a servant in his own court, in front of his dear friend and guest.

“This is Emrys. One of the prizes Prince Arthur brought back from his battle with Morgana.”

“He’s a fey?” Mannix asked.

Emrys risked looking up at that point, and the sight of Arthur and Guinevere was almost enough to steal his breath. They were sitting at opposite ends of the table, but they were still stunning together. Emrys had the sudden vision of the two of them sitting side by side, hands clasped, heads proudly bearing crowns, shoulders and throats shining with jewels. They were both beautiful and they were both wise and they were both in the fairy court.

Emrys gasped and closed his eyes, doing his best to forget the vision. But it couldn’t be erased. It only seemed brighter behind his shut eyes, all of the colors standing out starkly, Arthur wrapped in gold, Guinevere wrapped in silver.

“Yes. The only one who would swear his oath to Prince Arthur. Now he serves the court.”

“He is your servant?” Guinevere asked, sounding as breathless as Emrys felt.

“Yes, he is,” Uther said before Arthur could answer. “I’ve been endeavoring to break him in and prepare him for the life of servitude.”

“How, pray tell, have you done that?” Mannix asked gruffly.

“A week in the stocks taught him how to bow, and a week of walking on his knees taught him to kneel. A week in the stables taught him humility, and a week in the dungeons reminded him of his new place in this court. And now, my dear Mannix, I would like to ask you to complete his lessons.”

Guinevere’s eyes widened, Arthur’s frown deepened, and Mannix didn’t look half as pleased as Uther had clearly expected him to. Emrys took advantage of everybody’s temporary shock to bow deeply. “I look forward to serving you, my lord.”

“Aren’t you scared?” Guinevere whispered, and the rest of the hall might not have heard her, but Emrys did.

Uther laughed openly. “What’s there to be afraid of? He’s completely beaten.”

“But…”

Mannix held up his hand, stopping his daughter’s protest. She fell silent, but Emrys could see she wasn’t happy about it. “Your trust in an honor to me, your majesty. I’m grateful for the gift you’ve bestowed and I promise I will train him to the best of my ability.” He looked over to Emrys, his stare pointed, and Emrys realized that Mannix wasn’t ignorant of Emrys’s lineage either. “Go to my chambers and wait to attend me.”

Arthur was staring at him. Emrys could feel it, like a thousand ants crawling over his bare skin. He wished he could offer Arthur some reassurance. Perhaps Mannix or Guinevere would give him permission later to speak to the prince. No, no, Emrys’s earlier plan to distance Arthur from him was still a good one. For more than one reason. The fact that he hated it so much was a pretty good sign that it was for the best. If it wasn’t painful, it wouldn’t be necessary.

Emrys turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the banquet like the great hall was his domain. He didn’t stop walking until he reached the chambers used for the most honored guests. He let himself into the room, settled in the chair closest to the fireplace, and arranged his cape around him. He set his mouth in an austere line, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Emrys prepared himself to hold court.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Arthur rarely enjoyed the responsibilities and obligations that accompanied large banquets like this, but he usually managed to smile and speak politely, to laugh and joke at the appropriate times, to be suitably solemn if the conversation turned to politics or kingdom matters. But after watching Emrys walk away, he couldn’t put up that sort of effort. He wasn’t even interested in trying. He responded only when somebody spoke to him directly, and then he was surly and bit out only the most necessary words. Uther noticed, of course, and sent him pointed looks throughout the night, expressing his disappointment and annoyance without ever changing the tenor of his voice. Arthur didn’t care if Uther was displeased.

His thoughts never left Emrys.

He was certain everybody in the hall was thinking of Emrys. The servant who looked more like a king. The servant who couldn’t have been more humble, more respectful, or better behaved. Uther had expected everybody to be impressed with not only his gift, but his litany of abuse. He’d expected all in the hall to take great satisfaction out of seeing Emrys subjugated and humiliated. But the tension in the air was enough to tell Arthur that Uther had gravely miscalculated. Until recently, the fey had been Camelot’s most hated enemy, and that included Emrys. So why had everybody in the hall—nobleman, knights, and servants—ignored Uther in favor of gazing on Emrys?

Arthur knew why he did. Perhaps it was possible everybody had been stopped cold, flummoxed by the man’s great beauty, his bearing. Guinevere had been afraid of him. Or maybe that wasn’t quite right. Maybe she had been awed by him and his power. But why?

Why had she watched Emrys like she knew him? Arthur wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem wise to do so. What if he didn’t like the answer?

The evening dragged, each hour marked by a new dish. Uther had spared no expense, and hunting parties had been sent in all four directions with instructions to bring back the biggest, the best game they could find. It was more of a wedding feast than a welcoming feast, but Uther couldn’t be blamed for throwing a feast with such excess. If Camelot and the court had reason to celebrate, it was now. Now there was peace and soon the crown prince would be married to a beautiful lady who was already popular with her future subjects. Arthur didn’t begrudge the celebration. He just wished Emrys was seated on the other side of him.

Arthur spent most of his time thinking about Emrys. And he spent the rest of his time thinking about his fixation on the fey. In the past month, he’d spent every free moment he had with Emrys. He sought the fairy out and he told himself it was because there were so many things Emrys could teach him. It was best to know his enemy and even with Morgana dead, the fey were still his enemy.

Emrys wasn’t his enemy.

Sometimes he and Emrys didn’t even speak. Sometimes they sat in silence, Emrys alone with his thoughts, Arthur with his. But just being in Emrys’s presence brought a certain peace that Arthur had never experienced before. His life was frenetic, his mind often chaotic, his feelings too big, too strong, too often at ends with the figure he was supposed to cut and the men he was supposed to be. But when he sat with Emrys, everything was calm. Possibly because nothing about Emrys was frenetic.

It stung when Emrys implied he didn’t mind the three months that stretched ahead of them. Arthur wasn’t sure why, but he felt it in his chest and in the back of his mind. As though Emrys had  _ wanted _ to hurt him. Well, Arthur didn’t know what that meant or what Emrys was playing at, but he did know that he didn’t intend to wait three full months before speaking to Emrys again. He was the crown prince and Emrys had sworn his fealty to  _ him _ and he was not going to be deprived of this new pleasure before he even had the chance to understand what it was. Or why it was.

His mind remained on Emrys, though he did occasionally glance down the table to study his future bride. Guinevere was more beautiful now than he remembered from their previous meetings. She had a very pleasing countenance and her laugh was light and easily prompted. He liked the shape of her eyes and her nose and even the way her lips curved. There was something sharply glorious about her. Some rare quality he couldn’t quite begin to describe. She reminded him of somebody, though he couldn’t quite say who. He could grudgingly admit that he didn’t mind the thought of spending more time with her, though he still wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with her.

Arthur wasn’t a complete innocent. He understood what men and women were supposed to do together, even if he’d never had the chance to experiment himself. The problem was that the whole concept was completely alien to him. He had an easier time understanding the brief glimpses he’d caught of Emrys’s magic than he did women and love and romance. There had been servants over the years who’d made their interest known—and probably several more who had tried but simply weren’t blunt or forward enough for him to notice. After he turned fourteen, there had been wives and daughters of noblemen, and Arthur had always felt particularly uncomfortable with them. For a short time he wondered if he was  _ expected _ to lie with them. If his avoidance, and even outright refusal, could be construed as some sort of slight or insult. He knew what the knights did with bar wenches and the groups of women that followed them to war. But what he didn’t know was how all of that—or any of that—applied to his betrothal to Guinevere.

The thought of the wedding night in particular held such a number of terrors that Arthur could barely stand to entertain it for more than a few seconds at a time. Hearing Emrys’s explanation of love and desire had just further confused the issue. Was he supposed to feel that way for Guinevere? Did his feelings matter at all? He could already hear Uther’s response to that question.  _ You are the crown prince and you will do your duty for the crown and for Camelot. _

Perhaps if he spent enough time with Guinevere, those feelings would come. Arthur wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do his duty for anybody when looking at her inspired the same sort of feelings as looking at a particularly vivid sunset—interest and appreciation, but nothing more than that. It wasn’t like looking at Emrys.

The thought seemed to strike from nowhere, and Arthur very nearly deprived Uther of his heir by choking on a piece of chicken. He coughed, trying to discreetly clear his throat, but the chicken refused to budge and he was growing light-headed within seconds. He turned away from the table, doubled-over, struggling to force the chicken from his air passage. It seemed as though the harder he struggled, the more secure it became. This was not how he wanted to die. If he had to go down, he wanted it to be in battle. Not at a dinner he didn’t want to attend with a throat full of partially chewed chicken and his head full of very confusing thoughts.

Uther slammed his fist down on Arthur’s back, finally forcing the food from where it had lodged itself. It flew out of Arthur’s mouth, and all he could do was weakly gasp for breath as the word blurred around him.

“Arthur! Arthur, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Arthur wheezed. “I nearly choked. I’m not deaf.”

Then Guinevere was at his side, her fine features creased with concern, her brown eyes surprisingly dark. She was touching the side of his face and making comforting sounds and with her face so close to his, he could make out all the little details that he never took the time to notice before. Three thoughts followed in quick order.

Guinevere looked like Emrys.

Guinevere was half-fey.

Guinevere only seemed beautiful to him now.

“Are you quite well, my lord?” Guinevere asked. “Arthur? Are you well?”

“I…”

“Would you like a drink? Perhaps some sweet wine?”

“I…I just…”

“Arthur?” Now Uther was leaning over and invading Arthur’s space. He felt trapped and surrounded. He wanted to run as far as he could. Run right out of the castle walls and into the welcoming night. He wanted to run until only Emrys would be able to find him, and that realization made him hot and cold all at once. This wasn’t like getting hit in the gut. This was like getting brained with an axe.

“I need some air,” he finally managed.

Servants rushed forward to help him out of his chair, but he waved them away. Guinevere straightened, her frown settling even deeper. Arthur had the uncomfortable sense that she could read his mind. She could see all his thoughts about Emrys, and sense his surprise and fear and every other conflicting emotion Arthur couldn’t name. Perhaps the entire hall could. Perhaps they were all nodding their heads knowingly and commenting on how that fey had  _ enchanted _ their brave prince.

“Air,” Arthur said again. “Alone.”

He stood and made his stilted way across the room. He knew they were all watching him. He could feel their surprise and their questions. Uther would have words with him later, no doubt. But that was later. That wasn’t now. Now nothing mattered except finding a place to clear his head. His feet took him out to the courtyard and he half-expected to see Emrys there. No, he wanted to see Emrys there. Even though Emrys was currently the source of great confusion and not a little bit of fear.

When Arthur was ten, he had a pet dog that was just  _ his _ . The dog had been his ever-present companion, following after him from his training to his lessons to the council room with Uther to his chambers. He had been a good dog. Extremely loyal and dedicated, and he always knew when to lick Arthur’s hand to cheer him out of his darker moods. He had loved that dog more than just about anything in his life. He still missed him. The first time the dog had encountered a harmless snake, he had been completely confused. He kept darting forward, sniffing it, and jerking back. He barked and growled and whined. He looked to Arthur for help. He circled it and lunged at it, but no matter how he tried, he didn’t know what to make of it. Arthur had laughed and laughed at the time.

He didn’t find it half so amusing now. In fact, he was beginning to realize that the dog was a kindred spirit.

Ultimately, the dog had abandoned the snake, choosing to follow Arthur rather than stay and investigate the mystery. Arthur understood on some level he was facing the same choice. He could keep sniffing at this new development and try to figure out what it meant and why it was happening now. Or he could go where he belonged. No matter what he thought or felt, he would be marrying Guinevere. That had been settled since the moment of her birth.

Arthur paced around the courtyard, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed and chest aching. Emrys’s face in the front of his mind, Guinevere’s hovering on the periphery, waiting for him to shift his attention to her. When he tried, it was only to realize that as pleasing as he found her face, it was nothing compared to the wild beauty Emrys possessed. But those thoughts would make him sick in the heart and sick in the head. They needed to be abandoned, as his old dog had abandoned the snake.

Maybe the three months Emrys spent in Mannix’s service wouldn’t be so bad? While Emrys served Mannix, Arthur would focus his attention on Guinevere. It would be good for both of them to remember Emrys’s true place in the castle and Arthur’s true responsibilities and obligations.

*          *          *

When Guinevere entered the room and saw Emrys, she curtsied almost to the ground. Mannix bowed smartly and both of them allowed their faces to reflect their true feelings at the sight of him. Emrys was glad they’d shielded their thoughts from Uther, because if he had seen the awe and reverence in their eyes, he would have surely had Emrys executed just out of spite. Emrys didn’t have to be told that Uther didn’t want anybody but himself to be on the receiving end of awe and reverence.

“My lord,” Guinevere murmured. “Forgive me. I did not know you were here.”

“Of course you didn’t. Please, both of you, have a seat.”

They jumped to obey him, Mannix pulling up two chairs so they could sit a respectful distance from the fey. Once they were settled, Mannix leaned forward and asked urgently, “Why are you in Camelot, my lord?”

Emrys tilted his head. “Why are you referring to me as such? You’re mortal, are you not?”

“I am, sire. But when I married my wife, I took on all her oaths and vows.”

Emrys blinked. “You  _ married _ Sibley?”

“Of course. I love her. That’s why certain rumors about me persist. I’ve stayed true to her and people assume that if I’m not interested in bedding women, then it must be boys.”

“All of her vows? Are you loyal to Morgana?”

“I am, as always, loyal to Camelot,” Mannix said. “But Guinevere has loyalty to the fairy court.”

Guinevere looked at Emrys hopefully, and Emrys suddenly wished he’d changed his face. He should have as soon as he realized who Guinevere was. He should have made himself look old and small and human. Like somebody who had been born into service and didn’t know the first thing about ruling. But his pride had gotten in the way. He’d been obsessed with making Uther look foolish, and he’d never realized the possible consequences of his actions. He supposed he deserved what was about to happen.

“Why is Sibley not with you?” Emrys asked carefully. “Surely she’d wish to see her only daughter married.”

“Morgana called her,” Mannix said, as though he couldn’t believe he’d have to tell  _ Emrys _ that.

“Morgana is dead.” He looked to Guinevere. “Did you not feel that?”

“I…I felt something, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that,” Emrys said sharply, ripping the hat off his head. “That’s not who I am here. Here, I am…just Emrys. I’m the prince’s servant, and now I serve you. You must remember that.”

Mannix frowned. “How could Morgana be dead? I know that Uther has of course announced his victory but…she is a goddess. She is more powerful than the most powerful fey. Surely Uther is mistaken.”

Emrys shook his head slowly. “I saw her body. I was there when Arthur killed her. Morgana was not the only one to die. Her entire army fell.”

They had identical questioning looks and he saw the moment understanding dawn. Mannix’s mouth opened like he wanted to shout and Guinevere’s face crumbled, her eyes filling with tears. Emrys looked away, giving them a chance to process the news more privately. He hated to be the one to reveal this news, but they must have known on some level. They surely spent the whole evening listening to Uther brag about his son and his unstoppable knights, the finest in all the land.

“Arthur killed her?” Guinevere finally whispered.

“He ordered her death.”

“I hate him,” Guinevere said, not quite whispering anymore.

“No,” Emrys said quickly. “I know this hurts. I know…I know. Believe me. But Arthur didn’t start this war. That was Morgana’s doing. He’s not the culpable one here.”

“How can I marry him?” Guinevere turned shining eyes to her father. “Please don’t make me marry the man who killed my mother.”

“You must marry him,” Emrys said, keeping his voice even though his alarm was mounting. “If you refuse the betrothal now because he defeated the fey—and that’s all Uther will hear—then you will surely start a war.” He looked over to Mannix. “You can’t afford that, can you?”

“Perhaps she is not dead.” Mannix looked hopeful. “No mortal would cut her down.”

“Arthur captured me and twelve others after Morgana fell. He offered each one of us the chance to yield and swear our fealty to him. Sibley was the first to refuse him. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault that she could not swear allegiance to anybody but Morgana.”

Guinevere covered her face and her body began to shake. She slid off the chair, sinking to the floor in her grief. Her hair fell around her face and shoulders, shielding her from view, but Emrys could still feel her sadness flowing through him. Every tear sent another sharp pang to his heart. Mannix joined his daughter on the floor, gathering her up in his arms and holding her as she continued to cry for her mother.

“I’m sorry,” Emrys said, though he knew they probably weren’t listening to him. “I didn’t know she had a husband and a daughter. I didn’t know…”

The fire was warm against his back, and he concentrated on that heat as Guinevere and Mannix cried. Sibley had been beautiful and proud and deadly, and she always led the charge against Morgana’s mortal victims. How had she been married to a human? How had she allowed him to keep her daughter? Why had she not raised Guinevere in Morgana’s court to be fully fey? Emrys couldn’t begin to understand. He’d been willing to marry Vivienne, but he no longer hated mortals the way Morgana and her closest circle did. Had the queen known of Sibley’s family? No, he would guess Sibley somehow managed to keep them a secret; otherwise, Morgana would have killed them just out of spite.

Emrys waited several minutes before he bid them to rise and return to their seats. They did so immediately, and Emrys realized he would have to be very, very careful what he said to them in public. They would obey him without a second thought. He couldn’t be seen ordering the great Lord Mannix around Camelot.

“Listen to me very carefully. You must not behave any differently. You must continue to be loyal to Uther. You must marry Arthur.” Emrys leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If Uther suspects your first loyalty does not lie with him, he will have you executed.”

“Why didn’t Arthur kill you?” Mannix asked.

“I told you. He demanded an oath. I was the only one who could give him one.”

“You did not swear an oath to Morgana?” Guinevere asked.

“She was my mother. It was not necessary.”

“That means you are king of the fey now. How can you tolerate the way Uther treats you? You can destroy him with a word,” Mannix said.

“Don’t say things like that, either. Even if we are alone, don’t say anything like that. I have sworn my life to Arthur, his family, and his kingdom. I could no more kill Uther than Sibley could have killed Morgana. It was necessary to do this.”

“This seems a far worse alternative to death,” Mannix observed.

“Making my child an orphan is a far worse alternative to anything,” Emrys said.

“You have a child?”

“Yes. His name is Mordred and he’s six. His mother died last winter and I would not allow myself to be killed in front of him.”

Mannix’s eyes widened. “He was  _ there _ ?”

“Yes. Morgana knew of my devotion to him and so she stole him from me. She enchanted him so any disobedience from me would immediately result in his death. And then she made me fight, though I have spent most of my life resisting her and her efforts to destroy the mortal realm. The enchantment broke with her death. I felt no loyalty to her and I was happy to serve Arthur if it meant I could stay with Mordred.”

“Why do you call him Arthur?” Mannix asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s very familiar, is it not?”

“Arthur and I have…a complicated relationship. One that Uther facilitated with his pettiness. I believe Arthur would have been quite happy to treat me like a servant if Uther hadn’t been so intent on proving his point.”

“I don’t desire you to serve me,” Mannix said.

“We don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“I would like to meet Mordred,” Guinevere said.

“Of course, my lady. If it pleases you, I’ll bring him to your chambers tomorrow.”

“Where is he now?”

“He has been staying in Arthur’s quarters and Arthur’s old governess is seeing to Mordred’s care.”

“That is quite…generous of the prince,” Mannix said.

“Yes. Arthur is quite generous. He’s a good man. Please don’t hold him responsible for what happened. He was fighting a defensive war.”

“But…how did he do it?” Mannix asked. “How did he defeat them? He’s so…young.”

That is perhaps not what Mannix meant to say, but Emrys understood. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it when he killed her. Perhaps she grossly underestimated him. She had no respect for any mortal. Or perhaps he was just lucky. Somebody was bound to be.”

“You hold no ill-feelings toward him?” Guinevere asked.

“Of course not. He  _ is _ a good man. He’s going to be a good king one day. You should be proud to rule by his side.”

Guinevere shook her head. “You might be able to forgive him for killing your mother, but I cannot forgive him for killing mine.”

“He had no choice.”

“I understand that,” Guinevere said softly, her fingers twisting in her dress. “But when I look at him…that’s all I’ll be able to see.”

“Does Arthur know Guinevere is fey?” Mannix asked.

“Of course not. And I have no intention of telling him. Unless you have some desire to explain to Uther why his greatest friend was married to a fairy.” Emrys stood. “I’ll be happy to escort you to your chambers, my lady.”

Guinevere’s face twisted for a moment, but then she nodded and stood. “Thank you, my…Emrys.”

Mannix jumped to his feet. “You’re excused for the night, Emrys.”

“Thank you, my lord. Would you and the Lady Guinevere like to break your fast in your chambers tomorrow?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Emrys smiled, nodded, and opened the door for Guinevere, the perfect picture of a well-trained servant. He could see that Guinevere and Mannix were both uncomfortable with that, but the discussion was over. They would go along with it because they had no choice.

Guinevere was quiet as they walked through the corridor to her room. There were still tears on her cheeks, and her eyes were red. Emrys wished he could do something to help her. Despite his attempts to make her forgive Arthur, he knew she wasn’t going to listen to him. Regardless of how or why it happened, the result was the same. Guinevere was never going to see her mother again. Though Emrys had a hard time imagining Sibley being a proper mother. She was too much of a warrior. He wondered if she had been capable of loving Guinevere at all. Both Mannix and Guinevere were clearly devoted to her, but they must have seemed so very small to her.

“Do you really believe Arthur is a good man?” Guinevere asked, once they reached her door.

“Yes. I do.”

“How can you know for sure?”

“I…I believe I’ve seen his heart. He was built to fight, to lead men into war. But he’s kind. He understands the importance of mercy. And one day, he’ll be wise. He’s still so young. He needs somebody like you, Guinevere.”

“Somebody like me?”

“You’re not as young as he is.”

“He is two years my senior.”

“As I said, he was raised to lead men into battle. He still has a great deal to learn about people, about life, about living and suffering and the wisdom that comes with that.”

“I don’t know if I can help him,” Guinevere said, looking away from Emrys.

“Then perhaps you have a great deal to learn as well.”

“You really are loyal to him, aren’t you? It’s not just for Mordred’s sake.”

“He was loyal to me.” Emrys opened Guinevere’s door and bowed. “Sleep well, my lady.”

“Thank you…Emrys.”

He waited until she shut herself in her room before turning away. A part of him wanted to go to Arthur’s chambers, but he knew Mordred would already be put to bed for the night. And it really wouldn’t be appropriate for him to seek out Arthur—even if he wanted to speak to Arthur about what happened that night. He wanted to know Arthur’s reaction, and he wanted to explain to him that Uther’s plan had backfired once again.

He went to the servant’s quarters instead. He found an empty bed and he ignored the questioning stares he received. It was better than sleeping in the stables, though not as nice as sleeping in Arthur’s antechamber. Emrys didn’t even bother to change out of his finery. He collapsed onto the cot and closed his eyes and it wasn’t Arthur’s face he saw. It wasn’t Guinevere’s or Uther’s or Mordred’s. It was Sibley’s.

She would have known Guinevere was betrothed to Arthur.

She would have known.

She must have known. Why had she agreed to that? Why would she allow her only daughter to be betrothed to Uther’s son instead of taking her directly to the fairy court? Had she been a traitor? Had Sibley been the key to Morgana’s defeat? The true scope of such treachery was almost too large for Emrys to fully comprehend. But then, it was no different from what Emrys was willing to do. What Emrys had already done. He didn’t dare mention his suspicions without some sort of evidence. He would never undermine Arthur’s victory and accomplishment. But Emrys had always known that Arthur must have had help.

Emrys just hoped that Sibley’s betrayal—if that was the ultimate explanation to this mystery—wasn’t in vain. And if Guinevere couldn’t look past her own anger and sadness at the loss of her mother, then the sacrifice she made would have been for naught.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Guinevere had known Arthur her entire life, but she couldn’t say she understood him. She spent a number of months at court every year, sent there by her father to become acquainted with the royal house, the ways of Uther’s court, and the subjects she would one day be ruling. Arthur had barely acknowledged her. At first, she had tried to befriend him. After her twelfth year, she tried to coax attention and affection from him. She could ride as well as any man, and her father had shown her how to use a sword. But when she tried to reach him through non-traditional means, he seemed even more confused and put off by her. By the time she was fifteen, she’d given up her attempts. Whatever affection she’d had for him had withered from his neglect, and now it was difficult to believe she was the same girl who used to follow him around like a heartsick puppy.

Guinevere didn’t feel anything now. Not for Arthur, not for anybody. She’d spent the entire night crying over her mother, until there was nothing left inside of her. She cried out her pain at the loss, her anger, her frustration. She cried into her pillow until the material was damp, until her face was hot and her eyes hurt and her throat was raw. At some point, she realized that she wasn’t just crying for her mother. In three months, she would be bound to her mother’s killer for the rest of her life. But somehow, that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Emrys was the worst of it.

Emrys vibrated with power. He glowed. When he first stepped into the great hall, it was all Guinevere could do not to turn away from him and shield her eyes. She’d thought her father had seen the same thing at first, but now she wasn’t so sure. It was clear Uther did not, or else he wouldn’t be so keen to make Emrys angry. He was bound by his word to protect the kingdom, but Emrys was powerful. The most powerful being in either the fairy or the mortal realm. Surely he could retaliate without breaking his oath. His free will hadn’t been stripped from him.

She wanted to talk to Emrys when he brought her meal to her chambers, but he refused to engage with her. He treated her like he was any other servant, keeping his eyes lowered and his responses short and to the point. Then she realized that he truly meant to behave as though this was completely normal, as though they weren’t caught in some bizarre pretense. If Emrys truly intended to serve Arthur for the rest of Arthur’s life, Guinevere knew she would have to get used to Emrys’s continued presence. She didn’t think she could.

After breakfast, she made her escape to the stables. She couldn’t stay caught in the castle walls for the rest of the day. She didn’t want to risk running into either Uther or Arthur or her father. She wasn’t in the mood to speak to any of them. She wasn’t in the mood to speak to anybody. Every time she uttered a word, it hurt her throat. It hurt her head. And the words she didn’t dare utter hurt most of all. They were the ones locked in her throat, tearing at the tender flesh, choking her. Words she would speak of her mother. Words of accusation and anger. Words of mourning. They were like poison. It might have been better for her if she did speak them. If she shouted them from the top of the battlements and forced the royal house and the subjects and the whole kingdom to hear them.

But she could never do that, so she went to the stables. Her horse, Blancheflor, had been a gift from Sibley on Guinevere’s fifth birthday. Though the mare had now been in the mortal realm for fifteen years, she hadn’t aged a single day. Like other creatures from the fey realm, she was immortal. She couldn’t speak, and she didn’t have any extraordinary abilities, but she’d always been Guinevere’s closest friend. Guinevere wrapped her arms around Blancheflor’s neck and buried her face against the thick coat. She thought she was done crying, but something about the heat of the mare’s body drew the tears from her eyes. Soon, she was crying like she hadn’t stopped at all.

The horse stood patiently, allowing Guinevere to muffle her sobs against her neck. She hadn’t known her mother particularly well. She didn’t have memories accumulated over years and years. She had moments. She had days. She had brief images of a woman who seemed to wear the night like a cloak, letting the stars shine from her hair. Sibley didn’t visit often, but when she did, Guinevere’s world stopped, time stopped, and her mother was the only thing that mattered. She had treasured every second of every visit, and some part of her had believed that one day, when she was old enough, Sibley would take Guinevere with her. Mannix had missed Sibley with the same intensity. She knew he never touched another woman, even when Sibley’s absence had stretched for years.

“My lady?”

Guinevere stiffened and turned slowly, prepared to send the servant away with a sharp word. But when she finally looked at him, she forgot to be annoyed with him. He was handsome, with dark hair and deeply tanned skin, but it was his eyes that stopped her breath. They were as dark as his hair, and they were full of concern. As though the sound of her tears had pierced his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Guinevere said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t know anybody else was here.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” He took a hesitant step forward and smiled gently. “With all due respect, you don’t sound like you’re fine.”

Guinevere straightened, her tears forgotten as they dried on her face. “I don’t believe you have given me all due respect.”

The friendly smile faltered and he stepped back again. “I apologize. I did not mean to overstep my bounds.”

“No,” Guinevere said quickly. “No, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. You didn’t overstep anything. What’s your name?”

“Lancelot. I’ve been caring for your fine horse.”

“Blancheflor.”

“Blancheflor,” Lancelot repeated, smiling again. “May I?”

Lancelot took a brush from a nearby bucket and approached as though he was walking toward a skittish animal. But she got the sense that was just how he moved. He was careful—gentle. He began running the brush down Blanchflor’s neck, as though he was trying to wash away the damp tear stains left on her fur.

“She’s a fine horse,” Lancelot said softly. “How old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

Lancelot blinked. “Are you sure, my lady?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“This is a very special horse. She’s from the fey realm.”

“Oh,” Lancelot breathed. “I should have guessed. She’s the finest horse in the stable. Finer even than the king’s prized stallion. Perhaps I shouldn’t say that, but I hope you can keep my secret, too.”

Guinevere felt herself smiling. “Don’t worry. Your secret is quite safe with me.”

“May I ask what’s distressed you this morning?”

Guinevere studied his face, searching for any hints that she shouldn’t trust him. But he was gazing at her with open concern, and she trusted Blancheflor’s instincts. The mare seemed to like and trust the man brushing her coat. Guinevere felt comfortable doing the same.

“I recently learned that my mother has died while on a trip. Blancheflor is the only friend I have here in Camelot. I…I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Any friend of Blancheflor’s is a friend of mine, my lady. I, too, lost my mother, so I know a bit of the pain you feel.” He stepped closer, lifted his hand, and then hesitated. “I don’t wish to take any liberties.”

She shook her head and assured him it was fine. Then one strong arm wrapped around her shoulder and gently pulled her toward his solid chest. He wasn’t as soft as Blancheflor’s fur, and he didn’t smell as sweet. In fact, his skin was a bit sour from the various odors of the stables clung to his clothes. But his arms were secured around her, and when the tears started to fall again, he rubbed her back and whispered assuring words.

*          *          *

Arthur’s first attempt to be more attentive was to invite Guinevere to join him for lunch. She arrived with her maidservant to act as a chaperone, and she seemed to be even more beautiful than Arthur remembered. Her hair was braided away from her face, and her eyes were a little darker than before, her cheeks a little redder. But when she smiled at him, Arthur thought it looked strained. Almost like she was in pain, though she didn’t appear to have any injuries.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” Arthur took her hand and bowed, trying to smile his most charming smile. Having never done anything like this before, he didn’t know if it worked or if he just looked like he was grimacing. “I hope you are well.”

“I am, my lord, thank you. And thank you for inviting me to join you.”

“It’s always my pleasure to share your company.” Said in the right tone and with another smile. Arthur felt this was all going rather well. “Please, have a seat.”

The servant remained at the door, holding her hands behind her back, watching intently as Arthur held the chair out for Guinevere and then gently slid it forward. He didn’t know why she watched him like that. He had no intention of despoiling Guinevere. And even if he did, what difference did it make? He was the crown prince, he could despoil anybody he wanted to. Plus she was going to be his wife, so who would ever know the difference? Not that he had any real desire to despoil anybody.

He was not going to let himself think about Emrys. Or the fact that he’d dreamed of Emrys all night. Looking at Guinevere didn’t help with his resolve to push Emrys away from his thoughts. Now that he noticed the resemblance, he couldn’t stop seeing it. Which meant despite all of his best attempts, Emrys was still front and center on his mind, still demanding his attention. He knew he needed to speak to her, but he found himself at a loss for what to say.

“Has Emrys been satisfactory?” Arthur finally asked.

Guinevere’s eyes widened and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “Yes. I thought he would be ignorant, but he has proven himself to be very capable and…compliant.”

_ What’s that supposed to mean? _ Arthur’s temples began to throb. Thinking about Emrys was a bad idea. Talking about him was an even worse idea. Of course, if he were sharing this meal with Emrys, he wouldn’t have been struggling to find something—anything—to talk about. Emrys was endlessly fascinating to him, so he had endless questions. Questions Emrys never seemed to mind answering.

“That’s good. My father will be pleased to hear it. And how are your chambers? I trust they are comfortable?”

“They’re the same ones I’ve stayed in every year of my life, my lord. I’ve never had any cause to complain.”

There might have been a hint of reproach in her voice. Of course, Arthur had never asked about her comfort before. He had never really cared to and it wasn’t his problem. If there was anything causing her discomfort, there were servants to deal with that. But the question about her chambers exhausted the short list of topics he had in mind when he invited her to join him. Arthur was saved from trying to think of a completely new question by the arrival of their lunch.

Arthur always preferred a simple lunch. His daily request consisted of cold meat, a few hunks of cheese, and bread. It hadn’t occurred to him to make any changes to his daily routine until his servant set the plate in front of Guinevere and she looked at with an unreadable expression.

“I hope you find lunch satisfactory,” Arthur said quickly. “I normally don’t have a heavy lunch because I spend the afternoon drilling my knights.”

“This is more than satisfactory, my lord. In fact, it looks quite delicious.”

“What are your plans for this afternoon?”

“I still have a great deal of work to do on my tapestry.”

Arthur grimaced, unable to think of a more boring pastime. “Why are you doing that?”

“So it’ll be finished in time for our wedding, my lord.”

“Oh.” That tapestry. The one that would hang in their chambers once she moved in as his wife. “I look forward to seeing it.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur took a long swallow from his goblet and wished it was something stronger than water. He would remember that for the next day and instruct the servants to bring a carafe of ale. Perhaps she would appreciate it as well.

*          *          *

Guinevere rose with the sun and eagerly kicked the bedclothes away from her legs. She called for Morgause and dressed quickly, instructing her servant not to worry about fetching breakfast. She wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t even think about food. She’d spent the entire evening before thinking about Lancelot and the entire night dreaming about him. Guinevere knew it was not wise to show so much interested in a mere stable boy. If Arthur, or her father, or Uther ever learned of these meetings, there could be serious consequences. But the lunch hour spent with Arthur, and the afternoon spent in isolation, just increased her desire to see Lancelot. Beautiful, kind Lancelot.

She left Morgause in her chambers and hurried down to the stables. She tried to look like she wasn’t sneaking anywhere. It wasn’t as though she needed anybody’s permission to go to the stables and spend time with her mare. She couldn’t even be sure she would see Lancelot again. Despite that, there was a certain lightness in her step. Even if she only had a few moments with him, it would be enough to help her get through the rest of the day. There was more warmth in a single glance from Lancelot than Arthur could muster in an afternoon of conversation.

Guinevere didn’t know what prompted Arthur to pretend he was interested in her, or that he cared for her, but she hoped it wasn’t an impulse he would experience a second day in a row. She couldn’t even remember enjoying his company. It seemed like the girl who used to follow him around and wait patiently for a single word from him was a completely different person. Guinevere didn’t even know that girl. She was glad she knew the truth, but a part of her knew that it would have been best for her if Emrys had never mentioned Sibley at all.

She hadn’t even seen Emrys since he escorted to her room the night of the banquet. She thought she caught a glimpse of him the day before, hurrying back to her father’s chambers. Guinevere was just glad that she didn’t have to tolerate Emrys serving her. It was different for Mannix. He might have been willing to swear an oath to Emrys as king of the fey, but he couldn’t sense Emrys’s magic. It wasn’t pulsing around him, distracting him, forcing him to his knees.

Blancheflor neighed at her in greeting as she ducked into the stable. It was cool and dim inside, since the sun wasn’t shining directly on it, and Guinevere sighed with relief, feeling as though she was stepping into a new world. She glanced around, searching for any sign of Lancelot, but found herself to be completely alone. Guinevere was only mildly disappointed by that. She longed to see Lancelot again but she was quite content to keep her own company.

This time, she didn’t fling herself at the patient horse and cry like her heart was breaking. She stroked the mare’s face, pressed her cheek to the soft fur on its nose, inhaled her familiar horsey smell. She wished Blancheflor could talk and tell her what to do. She doubted she could tolerate another week in Arthur’s company. How could she marry him? Even if the alternative to their wedding was war, Guinevere could almost believe it was worth it. Shame pierced her at the thought—what would her father say if he knew she was willing to risk the lives of his men just to avoid being married to the future king of Camelot? He would be disappointed in her, to say the least.

“Are you sad again, my lady? If that’s the case, I must ask who has made you so, for surely they’ve committed a grievous sin.”

Guinevere spun around, her breath catching in her throat as she saw his face. Somehow, he was more handsome than she even remembered, and he looked just as kind and tenderhearted as before. “I am not as sad today as I was yesterday.”

“I am quite pleased to hear that, my lady. But I believe you shouldn’t be sad at all. I would prefer to see you smiling.”

“I have very little to smile over these days,” Guinevere admitted.

“Perhaps a ride would cheer you up?” Lancelot suggested.

“It might, but I left my maid in my chambers, and I couldn’t go without her.”

“Ah. Of course. I was just going to brush Blancheflor down.”

“I’ll help you.”

“That is very kind of you, my lady.”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to help. Especially since soon I will be unable to.”

“Why is that, my lady?”

“Because in three months I will be married to the crown prince. I’m quite certain that princesses and queens are not allowed to groom their own horses.”

Lancelot picked up another brush and moved to stand beside her. She focused on the mare’s neck while he ran his brush over Blancheflor’s haunches. They weren’t touching, but she thought she could still feel the heat from his body. She should have been embarrassed by her behavior the day before, but she just found herself wishing for another reason for Lancelot to hold her.

“If you are the princess, or the queen, shouldn’t you be able to do as you please?” Lancelot asked.

“I’m sure Prince Arthur would prefer his wife to behave appropriately for a princess.”

“If he loves you, he’d want you to do what made you happy.”

The words pierced her chest. Prince Arthur did not love her and she did not love him and it mattered not at all. Perhaps he would have no care at all for how she behaved as long as she provided him with an heir. She was of no use to him otherwise.

“I do not believe my happiness is one of Arthur’s concerns.”

“That is a great shame. If you were my betrothed, I would have no greater purpose than to make you smile.”

“Lancelot—”

“I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

“No, not at all. You may speak freely when it’s just the two of us.”

“You’re as kind as you are beautiful.”

Guinevere ducked under Blancheflor’s head and moved to the other side of her body. She ducked her face so Lancelot couldn’t see her blush, but she was sure her pleasure at the compliment was evident in her voice. “Have you worked in the stables your entire life?”

“No, my lady. I have only recently arrived in Camelot. I hope to prove myself worthy and become one of Prince Arthur’s knights.”

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all, my lady. There was a raid in my village when I was a boy. Nearly everybody was lost, including my family. I was left an orphan, and so I vowed to avenge my home one day. But I knew I could not face the fey on my own. And so I traveled to Camelot.”

Guinevere froze. “The fey?”

“Yes. It wasn’t bandits who attacked my village. It was the folk.”

“Do you still wish to join Arthur’s knights now that Morgana has been killed?”  _ And the fey king is Arthur’s captive and servant _ ?

“The folk were not the only threats against the kingdom. And now that I have met you I have even more reason to wish to join the knights of Camelot.”

She swallowed. “You do?”

Lancelot walked around the horse, his hand resting on the mare’s rump. She saw true devotion in his eyes, and felt it in his smile. Guinevere had no idea what she’d done to prompt such a look from Lancelot, but she felt light-headed and her stomach fluttered. She remembered feeling like this before, when she thought the sun rose only for Arthur.

“I cannot think of a greater calling than pledging my life to protecting yours,” Lancelot said, as though he was making some sort of vow. As though he was actually pledging his life to hers in that moment.

“Thank you, Sir Knight.”

She thought Lancelot would smile, but to her surprise, he blushed a deep scarlet. “I hope one day you will truly be able to say that.”

“Perhaps that will be the day I make you my champion.”

Lancelot looked shy and pleased and happy and solemn all at once. In all her life, nobody had ever looked at Guinevere like that. It was close to what she’d once hoped to receive from Arthur. If Lancelot could be her champion, perhaps being bound to Arthur would not be so bad.

*          *          *

Arthur’s second attempt to woo his future bride happened three days after their awkward midday meal. He’d been tempted to give up entirely on his plan, not at all eager for another painful hour in Guinevere’s presence. But after three days of meetings with the king’s council and drilling the knights, Arthur was exhausted and lonely. He missed Emrys. It was a physical ache in his chest, and he found himself walking past Mannix’s room when he had no need to, hoping for just a sight of the fairy.

When he couldn’t take another second of it, he sent a message to Guinevere, asking if she would like to accompany him on a ride through the fields surrounding the castle. She accepted his invitation, and the party that set out consisted of her maid, his manservant, two knights, and a stable hand. If Arthur was trying to get time and space to be alone with Guinevere, he would have been disappointed by the large party. He was still a little annoyed by the fact that he couldn’t be alone with his future wife, but it was a vague, general sort of annoyance. Not the sharp pang of irritation he felt whenever he remembered he couldn’t be alone with Emrys.

Arthur was determined to make this work. As they rode out of the south gate, he took the time to study Guinevere. He forced himself to find three things he truly enjoyed about her and then focused on those, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But the most he could muster was an appreciation for the shape of her eyes, which was of course, the same shape as Emrys’s eyes. Though they weren’t the same color. Emrys’s eyes were a truly beautiful shade of blue. A shade that reminded Arthur of the sky in the late afternoon—deep and dark with a hint of the evening to come.

“You’re an excellent horseman, my lady,” Arthur finally said, when the silence between them had stretched for what seemed like an eternity. He hated silence.

“Thank you. My father began to teach me before I could walk.”

“I’ve never seen a steed like yours before. Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift, my lord.”

“That is quite a generous gift.”

“Yes.”

Arthur blinked, waiting for more, but Guinevere apparently had no intention of adding anything else to her response. She also refused to look at him. Her attention darted from the road ahead of them to the fields to her maid and even to the stable hand, but he never felt her looking at him. He began to wonder if that meant she didn’t like him. She had liked him before. He remembered the way she always seemed to be underfoot. He’d mostly ignored her then because he didn’t have any reason not to. She was a girl, and so she couldn’t do anything truly fun.

They rode at an easy pace. The sort of pace one took when there was no real purpose to the ride, no real destination or goal. Arthur felt antsy, and he knew his horse was picking up on that. If Emrys were with him…but Emrys wasn’t with him. He couldn’t let his mind drift that way. He couldn’t imagine the conversations he would rather be having. He couldn’t think about the way Emrys always made him feel calm and comfortable. Guinevere made his skin itch. She made him unsure of himself. He could slay the fey’s great warrior queen, but he couldn’t speak to his future bride.

The silence continued unabated, except for Arthur’s occasional efforts to start a conversation. No matter what he did, Guinevere would not meet him halfway with a response. And when she did respond with more than a simple  _ yes _ or  _ no _ , she never asked him a question or indicated she understood how proper conversations were conducted. If Arthur hadn’t known better, he would think she had no formal training or understanding of social etiquette at all. But of course, she’d been raised in the court, and probably knew more about the customs and mores than Arthur himself did.

Which meant he was probably doing something wrong. There had been no lessons on the proper way to charm a woman, future bride or not. And Arthur had no practical practice whatsoever. He felt like a bumbling fool. The longer they rode together in awkward silence, the worse he felt. When Emrys spoke of love and desire, he had made it sound like it was overwhelming, like it was a wild, irresistible force. Whatever he felt for Guinevere wasn’t close to that. And it was clear that Arthur didn’t overwhelm her.

The afternoon ride wasn’t Arthur’s last attempt to gain the attention of his betrothed. He brought her gifts that he thought she would like, but she never seemed interested in his tokens. She was never rude to him, but the harder he tried, the more she removed herself from their interactions. Conversations petered out to nothing and were never revived. Meals were taken in tense silence, and Arthur found it tolerable only when he began to compare her face to Emrys’s. He was more pleased by the differences than the similarities, finding Emrys’s features superior to Guinevere’s in every way.

A month passed in this way. A month where Arthur didn’t see Emrys except once, in passing. Those few seconds when their paths intersected were relived again and again in Arthur’s memory, until he knew he was going to drive himself mad if he didn’t force his mind elsewhere. That’s when he pushed himself the hardest, finding any excuse for physical labor and working until his body wouldn’t remain upright. Only then would sweet, dark oblivion extend, and he could manage sleep without spending hours twisting and turning in his bed, arguing with himself over whether or not to summon Emrys. He needed to put space between himself and Emrys. And he just couldn’t do it. The space between them seemed to be shrinking as the space between he and Guinevere grew ever wider.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Emrys didn’t perceive the passage of time the same way as mortals. For him, thirty days was no more of a bother than thirty seconds. But now he was beginning to learn that a month could pass as slowly as an eon, and the glimpses he caught of Arthur around the castle did little to break up the monotony of his life. He insisted on performing all his duties as a servant simply because it kept him busy. If he was constantly running from one end of the castle to the next, he didn’t have to stop himself from running after Arthur. Mannix had graciously turned one of his room’s over to Emrys for his use, and he’d moved Mordred there immediately. He’d hoped that would prompt Arthur to visit or at least send a message, but there was no response at all.

He stuck close to Mannix’s side, which meant he rarely saw Arthur.. Both Mannix and Uther laughed over his absences over lunch and in the afternoon, pleased that their children were so clearly besotted with each other. Or at least, that’s what Mannix wanted Uther to think. It was difficult to tell if Mannix bore any grudge against Arthur over the death of his wife. Mostly, he just seemed very detached. As though very little that happened in Camelot mattered to him or could ever matter to him. Emrys understood. It was difficult to accept the death of a loved one, especially if that loved one was supposed to live forever.

Emrys might have only seen Arthur once or twice a day—and then he usually had Guinevere on his arm—but his thoughts constantly dwelled with the prince. Emrys couldn’t say why except that he was lonely. Mordred’s presence helped a great deal, but Mordred was only a child. Mannix and Guinevere were potential allies, but Mannix could barely follow a conversation most of the time and Guinevere, of course, was busy. He never thought he would miss the other fey, or the other realm, but he found he did. Or at least he missed knowing they were there.

He missed Vivienne most of all. He missed talking to her. She’d always understood him. He’d never felt the burden of his centuries when he was with her. It was simplistic to say that she made him feel young because he never felt that way. Even when he had been young, he hadn’t feel that way. But he felt  _ understood _ . Even though there was no fey in her lineage and as far as he could tell she was a normal mortal in every way, she still understood him. There had never been anybody else like that in Emrys’s life, and when he’d lost her, he was sure he’d lost everything. If he had been there instead of summoned to Morgana’s side, he could have saved her. There was plenty of time for regret in the span of an almost immortal life, and Emrys felt like he had more than his fair share.

Why did the sight of Arthur always make Emrys mull over those regrets? It never failed. He would see green eyes and golden hair, and suddenly he felt the same sharp yearning that Emrys had quickly associated with thoughts of Vivienne. Over the course of the month, it became more and more apparent to Emrys that he couldn’t continue this way, yet he would never be free of Arthur. Not that he wanted to be free of Arthur. It’d only been ten weeks since Morgana had fallen, but it felt like a hundred years.

Emrys was musing on the strange paradox his life had become when he literally ran  _ into _ Arthur. The tray he was carrying to Mannix’s room fell to the ground with a terrible crash, and Emrys went careening backward, his foot sliding over the slick soup that now coated the smooth stone beneath him. Emrys put his hand out without thought but before he had the chance to use magic, Arthur grabbed his arm and kept him upright.

“Thank you.”

Arthur smiled crookedly. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“I usually do. I guess I was distracted. Did I get any soup on you?”

“No. Were you on your way to Mannix’s chambers?”

“Yes.”

“Has he been treating you well?”

“He’s been very kind. Arthur.” Emrys waited until Arthur’s gaze shifted back to him. “There’s no need to worry. It seems that Uther has miscalculated his friend as he has miscalculated everything else.”

“Good.”

Emrys knew he should clean up the mess and continue on his way, but he couldn’t bring himself to step away from Arthur. Not now that he was close enough to see the tired lines around Arthur’s eyes. “Were you calling on the Lady Guinevere?”

“No, actually, I just escorted her back to her chambers. We spent the afternoon riding.”

“That sounds nice,” Emrys said, for lack of anything else to say.

“Yes.”

“So you and the Lady Guinevere are getting along?”

“Yes, of course. She’s a very beautiful and intelligent woman. She’ll make a fine queen.”

“I’ve no doubt of that, sire,” Emrys agreed quickly, though Arthur’s voice was flat and strangely hollow. He could have been talking about any woman in Camelot, including a woman he’d never met before. That was hardly the tone he’d expect from a man who was besotted with his betrothed. But it wasn’t any of his business. Who the prince married and other state matters were not his concern.

But Arthur  _ was _ his concern. He couldn’t stop the wedding, but Arthur needed friends right now. And Emrys was beginning to suspect Arthur didn’t have any.

“You should get back to your duties. I’m sure Lord Mannix is hungry.”

“Yes, I’m sure he is. Arthur, wait.”

“What?”

“Mannix won’t mind if I’m a little late,” Emrys said, deliberately dropping the title before Mannix’s name.

“What about this mess?”

Emrys half-smiled, waved his hand, and the tray immediately righted itself, as did the tureen of soup and the goblet of ale. “Good as new.”

“You’re not supposed to do that here.”

“Are you going to tell the king?”

Arthur shook his head. “Are you sure that Mannix won’t mind?”

“I’ll simply tell him that the crown prince needed my services for the afternoon. How could he argue with that?”

The corners of Arthur’s eyes lifted, almost like he wanted to smile. Emrys would take what he could get. “I was surprised that you sent for Mordred.”

“I didn’t want him to get underfoot.”

“He wasn’t. I rather miss him.”

Emrys arched his brow. “Really? Perhaps Mordred could serve as a squire? The steward has not yet assigned him a position.”

“I know, I told him not to.” Arthur began walking again, and Emrys eagerly fell into step beside him. It felt good to match Arthur’s long strides. He always walked with a sense of purpose, even if he was only going back to his own chambers.

“My lord?”

“He seems rather taken with Amelia. Has she been continuing his lessons?”

“Yes. Mannix told me she has called on Mordred every morning. I was not aware that she was acting under your orders. I appreciate the concern you have for him.”

“I know you do.”

They finished the walk to Arthur’s chambers in companionable silence. Emrys noticed that Arthur’s mouth seemed more relaxed, and he didn’t hold his shoulders as rigidly. Walking beside him felt right, like his place was at Arthur’s side, and anybody who took his place was nothing but a usurper. Considering that Arthur was going be married within two months, Emrys supposed he needed to get over that feeling. His place wasn’t at Arthur’s side. If anything, it was behind and slightly to the left of the prince.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Arthur said, once they were in his chambers with the door closed and locked behind them.

“About what, sire?”

“Don’t call me that here, Emrys. I don’t…I don’t want to hear that from you.”

Emrys inclined his head. “Very well. What’s going on, Arthur?”

“I’ve been trying to do the right thing by Guinevere. I know that my parents were very happy together before my mother’s death, and I’m sure Father meant for this to be a happy union.”

“You don’t believe it will be?”

Arthur collapsed in the nearest chair and shook his head. He looked young and miserable again. He looked tired, but it wasn’t a physical exhaustion. Whatever was depleting him came from inside. “Time stops when I am with her and not in a good way.”

“Haven’t you spent time with her before? It was my understanding that she visited Camelot often.”

“Yes, of course she did. But I…I don’t remember a great deal about her previous visits.”

“You don’t remember speaking to her before?”

“No, not really. I was often training or hunting or patrolling. Sometimes I was preparing for battle. Other times I was actually in the middle of a battle. Speaking to Guinevere was never truly a priority.”

“I see.” Emrys settled in the chair beside him.

“I keep thinking about what you said.”

“What was that?”

“About desire. About how it hurts and how it distracts you and drives you crazy.”

Emrys smiled a little. “Maybe it’s not that way for mortals.”

“No, I think it’s exactly like that for mortals.”

“You said you never desired anybody before?”

“I never have.”

“And you don’t desire Lady Guinevere?”

“No. I don’t even desire to be in the same room with Lady Guinevere.”

“Then how do you know how mortals feel desire?”

Arthur looked up and pinned Emrys with his bold gaze. Emrys wished he’d never asked. He wished neither of them had mentioned desire. He wished he hadn’t followed Arthur to his chambers because that single decision undid all the good work of the past month.

“I know,” Arthur said softly, purposefully, giving Emrys no recourse for response.

“Oh. Arthur—”

“Why do I feel this way?” Arthur asked, his voice harsh. “Why do I have these thoughts? Did you do something to me?”

Emrys shook his head, and now Arthur’s eyes weren’t quite so bold. He held Emrys’s gaze for another beat and then looked down. His cheeks were flushed, but Emrys didn’t know if that was from shame or rage. Perhaps it was a combination, as so often happened in matters such as these.

“When I’m with her, I just want to be with you. She looks like you. Here.” Arthur gestured at his own eyes. “The coloring isn’t right, but I stare at her just because she looks like you. She’s one of those half-fey children you mentioned before, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Emrys said, because there was no point in lying to him. Plus, he welcomed any change in the conversation. “But rest assured she means you and Camelot no harm. I’m quite certain of that. I would never let her near you if I thought otherwise.”

“Mannix fell in love with a fey?”

“Indeed. He married one named Sibley. She…Arthur, none of this truly matters. Mannix is still loyal to the crown.”

“He hates the fey.”

“He hates what the fey have done to his lands and his people. He hates the cost of battle. But I believe he loved Sibley. He certainly loves his daughter.”

“That explains why she looks like you. I wish it wasn’t so. It would be easier…” Arthur closed his eyes and the red on his cheeks only deepened. “I’m not like  _ this _ , Emrys.”

Emrys bit his lip. It seemed to him very likely that Arthur was like  _ that _ . He’d admitted himself that he had no interest in women, and even if Guinevere were a poor conversationalist, she had many other wonderful attributes to excite Arthur’s interest. Nearly any other man in the court would happily give up prized possessions and body parts to have a moment of her attention. But Emrys was certain that if he told Arthur as much, Arthur wouldn’t understand. The situation could still be salvaged. Emrys was sure of it. Arthur hadn’t indicated any curiosity or interest in any  _ other _ men, which meant that Emrys could nip this in the bud before it got out of hand. Arthur was the champion of Camelot, a hero among the people, but he would be seriously undermined if anybody believed him to be…effeminate.

“I believe the solution to your problem is simple,” Emrys said slowly. “You must focus more of your energies—all of your energies—on the Lady Guinevere.”

Arthur didn’t look pleased with that suggestion. “I’m already doing the best I can.”

“Have you tried to kiss her?”

“No.”

“It’s perfectly acceptable to do so,” Emrys said. “She has probably been waiting for you to try. You must…show your interest.”

“My interest,” Arthur repeated dully.

“Yes. You may quite enjoy it if you kiss her.”

“Emrys—”

“Arthur, you must try. If not for your own sake, then for the sake of the kingdom. If you cannot even stand to kiss her, then you will not be able to provide an heir later.” It was best to frame the argument in that way. Best to remove himself from the conversation completely. Arthur needed to focus on his obligations rather than his desires, and Emrys needed to be very careful about how he spoke to Arthur in the future.

“Do you think she’s who the fortune teller meant?” Arthur asked.

Emrys felt the heat of the lie from his throat to his stomach. But it was necessary to keep Arthur on the proper path. “Yes.”

“Sometimes I’m sorry I killed Morgana.”

Emrys frowned. “Why would you ever be sorry about that?”

“Because when she was alive and the fairy mounds weren’t sealed, I had a purpose. Nobody expected me to be anything except a warrior. But now, I’m…a prince. And it feels like everybody expects something from me, and I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s this, Arthur. For now, they expect you to secure the future of the kingdom, since you already secured the peace. When you ascend to the throne, everything will change again.”

“What if I can’t do what they want me to do?”

“You can. You can do anything you want to do. Nothing can stop you. Not even a goddess.”

“Do you know what Father told me last week? He said I’m not to ride out on any more patrols. If there are reports of bandits on the road or raids on the outlying villages, I’m to send out my knights and remain here.”

“I heard about that meeting. Mannix was quite…surprised, to say the least.”

“I feel like I’m going mad.”

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“Emrys, do you—”

“Arthur, don’t. Don’t ask it. Don’t think it.” Emrys swallowed hard, bracing himself for the inevitable response. Arthur would rebuild the walls around himself that he destroyed for Emrys’s sake, and Emrys would find himself on the outside of Arthur’s life once again. He hated that. It hurt. “That’s the way it has to be.”

Emrys caught a glimpse of the man inside the prince before Arthur’s eyes hardened and his mouth set in a thin line. “You should return to your master now.”

“Arthur—”

“You’re a good and loyal servant to Camelot, Emrys. I won’t forget that.”

The words were civil, but it still felt like Arthur had slapped him in the face.  _ A good and loyal servant to Camelot _ . Not to Arthur, though. And what did he care for Camelot? His true loyalty lied solely with Arthur. He hoped Arthur understood that.

Emrys stood, bowed, and murmured, “Sire” before crossing to the door. He wondered if Arthur would call him back. He wondered what he would do if Arthur tried. He would have to be the strong one until Arthur could provide his own strength. And he could do that. He’d done far harder in the course of his life, and he would probably live to see challenges that would put this small affair to shame.

He secretly knew there would never be a challenge in his life like Arthur.

Emrys pulled the door open and slipped into the corridor. He walked too slowly down the hall until he reached the tray, waiting for him exactly where he left it. A mumbled word, and the soup was fresh and hot once again. He wished he could use that magic to solve all his problems. He supposed he could. It was technically possible to use the magic on Arthur and change all his thoughts and desires, but that was a violation Emrys would not commit.

Arthur would be fine. The road he was on wouldn’t be an easy one. But Emrys never promised Arthur he’d make his life easy. Of course, he’d never counted on this. He’d never thought he would be obsessed with a prince who wasn’t quite a man and certainly not a boy. He’d never thought he would long for another mortal. He’d never thought he would tell anybody as beautiful as Arthur that he wasn’t interested. But then, he never actually  _ said _ that. He hadn’t let Arthur back him into saying anything like that. Because the one thing he couldn’t do was lie quite so baldly. Not to Arthur’s face.

He just hoped that Arthur didn’t press the issue. He didn’t think the prince would. He had too much pride to risk it. The memory of Emrys’s rejection would sting him for a long time. Hopefully, when that sting finally faded away, Arthur would be more comfortable with his duties. He would be more forgiving of Emrys’s duties. One day he hoped to serve Arthur as his advisor, and he hoped to serve the king well, but he couldn’t do that if he was weak now.

*          *          *

Arthur thought he might throw up. He hadn’t eaten anything that morning, so he wasn’t sure why his stomach was churning quite so dramatically, but it felt like it was trying to push its way up through his chest and out of his mouth. The last time Arthur had thrown up, he was eight. He was learning how to use the quarterstaff and got hit directly in the stomach. The knight who’d delivered the blow, Bersules, immediately dropped down to Arthur’s level and asked him if he was all right. Arthur remembered opening his mouth to inform Bersules that he was perfectly fine, and then the contents of his stomach suddenly sprayed everywhere.

Reliving that memory didn’t help the pain in his abdomen. Neither did looking Guinevere, who was riding with her spine straight and her attention locked straight ahead. Arthur had tried three times since they left the stables to draw Guinevere into conversation, but she was more withdrawn than usual. She answered him politely, but with the fewest words possible. The sun was shining and the air was heavy with summer heat, but Arthur felt a chill between them. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. A distinctly unpleasant sensation when paired with the relentless agitation in his midsection.

_ Arthur, don’t ask. Don’t ask it. Don’t think it. _

Emrys’s words never left his head. He fell into a fitful sleep the night before with the words on the front of his mind. He woke up that morning with the same three, short sentences. He’d dreamed them all night. He heard the words with each beat of his heart. They might have been the source of his illness. Arthur wasn’t sure. He would absolutely love to blame this all on Emrys, but that didn’t seem entirely fair. He was sure all of his problems didn’t start and end with Emrys.

On the other hand, he was pretty sure they did. Hadn’t he been happy before he met Emrys? Hadn’t he been resigned to his life, even if he wasn’t particularly looking forward to his marriage? As the years had gone by with his betrothal hanging over his head like a sword, Arthur had always been certain that he would be able to do what he needed to do, when he needed to do it. Now he was preparing to kiss Guinevere’s sweet mouth and he would rather take that blow from the quarterstaff directly to his gut.

Arthur had a mind for strategy, and this day was no exception. If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right. He thought they should be away from the castle, and he knew the perfect clearing just an hour’s ride east. It was small and quiet, and while Arthur didn’t normally have an eye for beauty, he was sure this spot was perfect for what he had planned. He hoped being far away from the distractions of the castle would put Guinevere at ease.

When they finally did reach the clearing, Arthur’s stomach twisted more painfully than before. It must have been nerves, but it was nerves unlike anything Arthur had experienced before. Even when he led his knights into that last battle, knowing Morgana was waiting for him, knowing he was going to die, he hadn’t felt like this. His own death was easier to face, and he could not understand why. It had to be Emrys’s fault. It had to be.

Guinevere barely looked at the peaceful spot. She seemed intent on riding through it and into the dark trees on the other side. How long would she ride if Arthur didn’t stop her? Would she try to go all the way back to her home that wasn’t really her home at all anymore? Would she try to go farther?

“Let’s take a rest here,” Arthur said, surprised that his voice sounded so normal. If he found a reflection of himself in a still pond, he was certain it would look calm—he would look normal.

“Yes, my lord.”

It didn’t matter what Arthur suggested, Guinevere always responded the same way.  _ Yes, my lord _ she would say, and then she would quietly do his bidding. Her obedience should have pleased him. It would please any man to know that his betrothed was docile and prepared to do whatever she was told. But the listless way she responded to him did nothing to warm his heart or soothe his stomach.

He dismounted first and then held her down from her mare. The white horse was as docile as Guinevere. It wasn’t even necessary to hobble her in place. She would not leave her mistress’s side. Arthur appreciated that sort of loyalty. Sometimes, he felt like he had more fondness for Blancheflor than he did for Guinevere.

“This has always been a favorite spot of mine,” Arthur said as he untied the blanket from the back of his saddle. He unrolled it beneath a tall tree and took Guinevere’s hand while she quietly settled on the soft material. Morgause and the knights had stopped a respectable distance away, giving the two of them privacy. Did they ever notice the lack of intimacy between the prince and his lady? Did they ever comment on it between themselves? Were they already the subjects of castle gossip? Arthur wouldn’t doubt it, but he hadn’t heard so much as a whisper.

“It’s very beautiful,” Guinevere agreed dutifully.

“As are you, my lady,” Arthur said in a rush.

She returned his compliment with a small, gracious smile. He thought Emrys would appreciate this place. He imagined Emrys seated peacefully on the blanket, absorbing the scents and sounds of the world around him. He imagined Emrys’s sweet, patient smile as he calmly explained that the trees were whispering to him. Arthur didn’t know if the trees actually whispered to Emrys, but he wouldn’t have been surprised. How could he be after Emrys revealed the stars were horrible gossips?

“Have you enjoyed your stay in Camelot, my lady? If you want for anything, please tell me, and I will see that you receive it.”

“Everything has been lovely, my lord. Everybody has been very kind to me, following the model that you have set yourself.”

“I only wish for your happiness.” The words were stilted, but Guinevere still smiled at him. Of course she did. She rarely had any other response handy. It was so much easier to talk to Emrys. Even when he was revealing how weak he felt, it was easier to speak to Emrys. Arthur wished he could kill something to demonstrate his devotion to Camelot. But he already  _ had _ killed something, and apparently that was not enough.

The long silences between them were never comfortable. Arthur always wanted to fidget, and this time, he plucked a flower from the ground and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, the petals catching the light as they twirled back and forth.

“Guinevere, you’re very beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Any man would be quite pleased to have you as a wife.”

“You’re too kind, my lord.”

“Including myself,” Arthur said with a bit too much force.

“I would not question that, my lord.”

“Guinevere, what I’m trying to say is…” He leaned closer and reached up to touch her cheek. He wore gloves, so he couldn’t feel the texture of her skin, but the contact was still shockingly intimate. She froze like a baby deer, holding perfectly still, eyeing him warily. He wanted to tell her that looking at him like he was some sort of predator didn’t help the situation. He wasn’t a predator, he was her prince, her betrothed, and one day he would be her king. She was supposed to trust him. She was supposed to want him to touch her this way.

Arthur didn’t hear anything except the pounding of his own heart as he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. Once they touched, Arthur realized he didn’t know what to do next. He thought there would be some sort of instinct, some natural prompt that would guide him through the entire gesture. But he felt nothing as he finally kissed her—no surge of desire or pleasure, no satisfaction, no hint of what he was supposed to do next. And Guinevere was as still as ever, as though the touch of his lips had turned her into a marble statue.

The kiss was short-lived. He tentatively touched the tip of his tongue to her mouth, and that was when she responded. Guinevere yanked away from him like he disgusted her, and the flash in her eyes might have been rage. It was difficult to tell because she composed herself so quickly. Arthur did not think she would appreciate a second attempt, and that was fine, because he didn’t want to make one.

“My lord—”

“I’m sorry. I thought you would like it.”

“It’s not that,” Guinevere said quickly, but she was leaning away from him, like she was frightened he really would try again. “But I…vowed to remain perfectly chaste until my wedding night. My mother asked it of me.”

“Oh. My apologies.”

“No, please, that is not necessary, my lord. And I hope I didn’t cause you any offense.”

“It is I who should be worried about causing offense,” Arthur assured her. “Would you like to return to the castle now?”

“If you don’t mind, sire.”

Arthur stood and went through his previous actions in reverse, helping Guinevere to her feet, rolling the blanket up and securing it to the back of his saddle, helping her onto Blancheflor. The ride back was worse, though. The tension was thicker, and the pain in his stomach had migrated until it settled in his head. He felt it in his throat and his temples and his ears. He felt it behind his eyes. He wanted to escape to a silent, dark room and think of Emrys until he didn’t feel quite so awful. A good plan, except thinking of Emrys almost always made him feel worse.

They parted ways once they returned to the stables, as they always did, though this time it was without a farewell. Arthur saw to his own horse, making sure it had a good rubdown, checking its hooves, joking half-heartedly with the stable hands who watched from the corners. It always made them anxious when Arthur insisted on seeing to his own horse, as though they suspected it could only lead to their eventual dismissals. Arthur was always pleased with their work, but if he couldn’t get it right with Guinevere, and he couldn’t be with Emrys, and he didn’t want to be alone, he simply didn’t have any other option.

Arthur spent a good hour with his horse before he peeled his gloves off. He nearly reached the door before whispered voices caught his attention. He couldn’t make out what was being said, or who was speaking, but he recognized intensity behind the voices. Curious, he ducked around the corner, expecting to see one of the stable boys and a servant girl in the sort of passionate embrace he was beginning to suspect he would never participate in.

He did see a passionate embrace, and it did involve one of the stable hands, but the woman he held was no servant. Neither one of them noticed him, but only because they were kissing each other with real hunger. Guinevere clung to the man’s broad shoulders, like a drowning woman might cling to her savior. He had one hand buried in her long, dark hair, and the other arm wrapped around her waist. They were pressed so closely together that nothing could come between them. Not even a speck of light.

Arthur stared for a long time. He thought they would notice him, but they were too wrapped up in each other. He was angry, but he felt the rage in a distant, cold way. A new weight settled in his stomach, holding him in place as they moaned into each other’s mouth. Guinevere had been so cold with him that he thought she must have been made of ice, but now he realized she had fire inside of her. It was  _ him _ . She had no fire for  _ him _ . No matter how he tried, she couldn’t even pretend to be interested in kissing him. She had no affection left for him.

Arthur backed behind the corner, realizing that he didn’t want them to notice him. If they did, he would be forced to challenge the boy in a battle to the death, or he would be forced to throw Guinevere from the castle, utterly disgraced and ruined. Simply because she didn’t love Arthur. Perhaps he would have sought his revenge if he loved her, but he didn’t. He didn’t even like her. Arthur knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t going to waste another second with her. He didn’t even plan to speak to her until the day of their wedding. Then he would lie with her until she was with child, and that would be the end of their relationship.

A certain weight fell from Arthur’s shoulders as soon as he made his decision. The sick feeling left him, and his headache improved. Emrys would probably present an obstacle. He would argue that Arthur needed to try harder with Guinevere, or drive the stable boy from Camelot, or some other quick, unambiguous act of violence. He would argue that it was Arthur’s duty as prince and future king. He would very likely have many strong arguments and speak very eloquently and try to sway Arthur from the path he’d chosen. But it wouldn’t work. It was time for Arthur to make his own decisions, in his own way.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Guinevere’s lips were swollen, her cheeks were flushed, and a single piece of straw clung to the back of her hair. She rushed down the corridor, not quite running, but not quite walking, either. She shot the occasional glance over her shoulder, like she thought somebody must be following her. She looked like a guilty woman. Maybe one that hadn’t been caught yet, but would be caught soon. Emrys watched her duck into her room and heard the unmistakable snap of the lock bar falling into place. He considered knocking on her door, knowing that she would feel compelled to admit him into her chambers. But it wasn’t necessary to speak to her. He had eyes. He could see what she spent the afternoon doing.

With Arthur.

It was nothing more than what Emrys had ordered Arthur to do, but it still made Emrys’s head feel curiously heavy. He felt angry, too. He didn’t want to think of the pleasures she discovered in Arthur’s arms, but once the image wormed its way into his brain, he couldn’t ignore it. There was no benefit in Arthur being perfectly chaste, but now that he was no longer the ignorant innocent, Emrys couldn’t shake the sense that something had been lost. An opportunity. Arthur had so much to learn—why couldn’t Emrys be his teacher?

A pointless question. Emrys knew the answer. The many, many answers. Emrys could be a guide for Arthur and an advisor. He could help Arthur make Camelot a great kingdom. But he couldn’t teach Arthur every lesson he would ever need to learn.

“Emrys!”

Emrys barely had the chance to step out of the way, but Arthur’s squire, Allan, still almost managed to plow right into him. Emrys grabbed the boy’s shoulders and held him straight as he gasped for breath. “What is it?”

“Prince Arthur…”

“What about Arthur? Is something wrong with him?”

“He demands your presence.  _ Immediately _ . He’s in his chambers.”

“Is that all he said?”

Allan nodded. “You can let go of me now.”

“Right. Of course.” Emrys released him and hurried down the corridor. He wished Arthur had another friend he could brag to. It wasn’t that Emrys didn’t want to be there for Arthur, but he needed a bit more time to prepare himself for what he was about to hear. For one thing, he needed to figure out exactly why he thought  _ he _ should be the one to take Arthur’s virginity. And that was exactly what he wanted. Once he worked out that conundrum, he could begin preparing himself to hear all about the person who did.

Emrys nearly barged through Arthur’s door, but he forced himself to stop and knock. Boundaries. It was important to remember that they had boundaries. Boundaries that had to be respected now. Why had he ever pushed Arthur into Guinevere’s arms? Emrys forced himself to smile because he didn’t want Arthur to think him upset or unhappy or jealous. Had Arthur enjoyed it? Was he going to be smiling and chipper? It was difficult to imagine Arthur  _ chipper _ . Emrys reminded himself that he’d been through much worse in his life and knocked lightly on the door.

Arthur must have been waiting for him because the door flew open. A large hand closed around his upper arm and then Emrys was being pulled forward. He barely had the chance to register the door slamming shut behind him before Arthur was pressing him against the solid oak. Arthur had never once tried to overpower him, and though Emrys understood the other man was strong, this was the first time he truly  _ felt _ it. Arthur’s hands seemed to be large enough to snap a mere mortal into two, and Emrys was close enough to see the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt and the darker flecks of gold in his eyes.

“Arthur?”

Arthur’s mouth pressed to his was not the response he was expecting, but at the same time, he hadn’t truly expected anything else. Emrys closed his eyes and parted his lips,  _ knowing _ he should push Arthur away, but so curious. Curious about the texture and heat of his mouth. Curious about what Arthur would give him and what Arthur would let him take. Curious about what Arthur had learned and what was still left to teach him.

The kiss was clumsy and hard with a hint of defiance. Emrys braced himself with his hands against Arthur’s chest, but he didn’t try to push Arthur away. He had no intention of that. He let Arthur plunder his mouth, his blood singing as Arthur’s tongue slid against his. He didn’t taste Guinevere in Arthur’s mouth. He didn’t taste anything except Arthur, and it was more wonderful than Emrys could have imagined.

After several long seconds, Emrys began to take more control of the caress. He did so gradually, slowing the kiss by increments until it was something sweeter. Arthur moaned softly, his fingers tightening on Emrys’s arm as he braced himself against the wall with his other hand. Emrys was trapped, and he couldn’t do anything about that except clench his fists, twisting the material of Arthur’s shirt between his fingers. He licked at the curves of Arthur’s cheeks, teased his tongue, let his teeth catch for a moment against Arthur’s bottom lip. He felt something nudge against his thigh, and his cock stiffened completely.

This was not what Emrys had intended. He told himself that again and again. They broke apart for air, but Emrys barely had a chance to gasp before their mouths crashed together again. When was this desire born? Where had it come from? Did it begin when he saw Arthur fighting so valiantly on the battlefield? Or did it develop later when he had the chance to see the true nature of Arthur’s heart? Or had it always existed? Had Arthur been made for him to find? They fit together so well that Emrys could believe it, could believe that they had both been born for this moment and these long, desperate kisses.

Emrys’s hands slid away from Arthur’s chest, one traveling over the smooth skin on his throat to the back of his neck. The other went down to where his shirt met the waistband of his pants, and he pulled at the linen until it was free and Emrys could let his palm dance over the newly revealed strip of skin. Arthur jerked at that contact, hissing softly against Emrys’s mouth before he deepened the kiss again.

This wasn’t the first time Emrys had tasted the sweet heat of a mortal’s mouth, or felt the gentle urgency of a mortal’s passion. But it might as well have been. Emrys was intoxicated with it. He was intoxicated with the smell of Arthur’s skin and how Arthur yielded to him and resisted him and claimed him with the same small gesture of his lips. All of the desire and affection—not to mention the true moments of love he had felt for Arthur—merged together into something hard and pulsing deep in his abdomen.

“I tried,” Arthur said against his mouth. “I tried. I did what you told me to do.”

“I know.”

“But it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t?”

“She wouldn’t let me do this.” Arthur’s kiss was hard and short. “Or this.” He moved his mouth to Emrys’s throat, and his lips were damp and his tongue was hot and Emrys thought his legs were going to melt. “Couldn’t even touch her.”

“But I saw her…”

“She has somebody else.”

Emrys forgot all about melting. He stiffened and slightly pulled away from Arthur’s mouth. “What?”

“I don’t care. She can lie down with every stable hand if she wants.”

“But Arthur…”

Arthur caught Emrys’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. Once again, Emrys was reminded that this man was  _ strong _ . And his eyes were like twin green flames when he looked up. “I don’t care. I don’t want her.”

“So you’re still…you’re…”

“A virgin?” Arthur supplied, his mouth slanting. “Did you think I wouldn’t be? You just told me to kiss her.”

“You’re mine,” Emrys said, and there wasn’t anything else left to say. Emrys felt the truth of that has deeply as he felt any truth. It didn’t matter what Arthur thought of that declaration or how he felt about Emrys, it was just a simple fact. Arthur, the warrior prince, the slayer of Morgana, belonged to  _ him _ . Nobody else had any claim over him, and Emrys would kill anybody who argued otherwise.

“Yes,” Arthur said, as though Emrys was stating the plainly obvious.

Emrys held the back of Arthur’s head and took his mouth in a hard kiss. The certainty of his claim over Arthur only increased as Arthur moaned in encouragement, and nothing was going to stop Emrys from claiming every inch of Arthur in the same way. Without breaking the kiss, he transported them across the wide room, putting them at the foot of Arthur’s bed within a second. Arthur didn’t seem to notice. Or if he noticed his sudden transference from the door to the bed, he didn’t care. There were more important things demanding his attention.

Hunger gnawed at Emrys. It gnawed at his bones and his heart. It tore into his body with sharp teeth, and Emrys knew that Arthur was the only thing that would sate it. His need to possess Arthur was nearly animalistic—or maybe it was completely animalistic. He had no point for comparison, because he’d never wanted anybody the way he wanted Arthur. Vivienne had been the center of his world for years, but even in the beginning when everything was fresh and new and she was beautiful in her desire, it hadn’t been like this.

The fey weren’t known for their stormy passion. Even their anger had a reserved quality to it, almost as if they were truly above such emotions but couldn’t quite resist the temptation to indulge. Morgana had been an exception to that. All of her emotions ran deep, fed by a molten core of seething love and rage and obsession. Emrys had spent most of his existence denying that the same sort of fire existed within him, struggling to emulate the other fey, or even the more even-headed mortals. But with Arthur, he felt that control slipping.

He felt Arthur’s control slipping, too.

They tore at each other’s clothes, struggling with the layers and the laces. Arthur was wearing his riding breeches, and the leather was soft and supple but stretched tight over his thick thighs. They felt like a second skin, and it was much easier to remove Emrys’s pants first. The tip of his cock dragged across the leather, and Emrys shifted, grinding himself against Arthur’s leg. Arthur bent his knee slightly so his thigh pressed harder into Emrys’s crotch. No matter what Emrys did, Arthur responded, keeping up with him like he had no intention of losing an inch of ground to Emrys.

Emrys couldn’t wait to bury himself in Arthur’s virgin body.

When the breeches became too much for Emrys to tolerate for another second, he used magic to dispose of them. Each time he used his magic, the air sharpened around him, and there was a high, bittersweet smell. It was so familiar and had been so absent from Emrys’s life that he longed for more. He wanted it to be as thick as a fog in Arthur’s room. He wanted to inhale that magic and taste it and roll around in it. Later. He would show Arthur everything he was capable of, all the wonders and mysteries of the mortal realm. In the meantime, the scent of his skin and the taste of his mouth and sweat and arousal would be more than enough for Emrys.

Once he got Arthur undressed, Emrys had to take a step back, though it cost him a great deal to break the physical contact. But he wanted to see Arthur’s body. He wanted to know the scars and the dimples and the birthmarks. He wanted to know the landscape of his body the way he knew the landscape of Arthur’s land. Fingers moved over raised skin, and his mouth followed the curve of his collarbone. Arthur was the closest thing to physical perfection that Emrys would ever hope to see, and yet he had flaws. The years of war had not been kind to his flesh, and there were countless stories carved into his skin by sharp blades and blunt rocks. Emrys could read each one as though he had witnessed them all.

“Emrys…your eyes. They’re black.”

Emrys blinked and forced his concentration back to the moment instead of all the years before. “Does it bother you?”

“It…surprised me.”

“Just surprise?” Emrys asked as he dragged his tongue over a jagged wound on Arthur’s right shoulder. He knew where that wound came from, knew exactly who had sliced into Arthur’s skin. Knew that fairy was dead and knew he might have killed the culprit himself if she still lived.

“It was…oh…disconcerting.”

Emrys had already lost interest in the conversation. He wanted to tell Arthur he need never fear him, but Arthur already knew that. He was more interested in the texture of the scar, and he ran his tongue over it again and again and again until Arthur fisted his hair. His large fingers tangled in Emrys’s hair, pulling it until Emrys felt the sting from the top of his scalp to his neck. Emrys palmed Arthur’s erection, running the heel of his hand over the top before wrapping his fingers around the shaft and dragging his hand back down the length.

Arthur gasped, his fingers suddenly going lax, and Emrys surged against his body to claim his mouth again. Lips twisted in a harsh kiss, but Emrys kept each stroke slow and sweet. Arthur made the sweetest sounds in the back of his throat, and he kept shuffling his feet and swaying, like he wanted to be closer to Emrys. Emrys’s other arm sneaked around Arthur’s waist to steady him. His cock was slick, growing slicker by the second. The clear liquid covered Emrys’s hand and made it easier for him to stroke faster, increase the friction and the speed until the sweet sounds turned into small, pleading mews.

“I’m going to take you,” Emrys said, licking Arthur’s lips. “You understand?”

Arthur nodded.

“Do you want that?”

Arthur nodded again.

Emrys rewarded him with a twist of his wrist, and Arthur’s scream was almost instantaneous. His knees buckled and he was swaying again, his cock jerking, covering Emrys’s fingers with long, sticky strings. Emrys felt the liquid drip along his wrist, hot against his skin, tickling over his pulse point. His mouth watered for a taste of Arthur’s spending, and he knew that desire came from the same place as his earlier animalistic needs. It was pure instinct to capture the scent and taste of Arthur’s body, of his life and his skin and the salty liquid that nobody else had ever sampled.

Emrys scraped his teeth across Arthur’s mouth in a playful bite before dropping to his knees. He attacked Arthur’s semi-erect length with his mouth, seeking out every drop and thick band across his skin. He wiped his hand over the wiry hair at his base and then followed that with his tongue, mouth tingling from the texture of his hair, the taste of salt and sweat and come. Emrys gripped Arthur’s thighs, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises, and wished he could roll around in that scent. Wished he could cover himself in it.

“Emrys…what…oh gods…”

Emrys focused on Arthur’s skin and thighs, and when he was clean, he shifted his attention to Arthur’s cock. It had been a very long time since Emrys had done this with anybody—a very long time since Emrys had  _ wanted _ to—but he wrapped his lips around Arthur’s crown like it was the most natural action in the world. Would Arthur do this for him? It didn’t matter either way. It didn’t even particularly matter if Arthur wanted to touch him at all. All that really mattered was that Arthur would let Emrys do  _ this _ , do anything, do everything.

Emrys pushed his tongue against the slit, coaxing out the last drops of his come before he began laving the silky skin with his tongue. By the time his head was clean of the salty taste, Arthur was fully erect again. He stood perfectly still, like he was afraid if he moved, Emrys would simply stop. Emrys took him by the hips and yanked him forward roughly, feeling Arthur’s hot muscle slide against his tongue and reach the back of his throat. Arthur shuddered and Emrys yanked him forward again. Arthur moaned and stood still, his cock down Emrys’s throat, the wiry hair tickling against Emrys’s lip.

Emrys guided the rhythm at first, showing Arthur what he needed to do until Arthur didn’t need Emrys’s help anymore. He found the pace he liked, and it was hard and a little rough, and Emrys moaned in encouragement. He wanted Arthur to lose himself in that moment, to be caught up in driving his cock as deeply into Emrys’s throat as he could, because if he was caught up in that, he wouldn’t notice what else Emrys had planned.

He cupped Arthur’s balls, squeezing and pulling, knowing that it would hurt a bit. He also knew Arthur would like it to hurt. Arthur had never known true pleasure. The purest sensation he’d ever experienced in his life was pain, and Emrys understood instinctively that Arthur would be more comfortable if he hurt a bit. He squeezed until Arthur made a sound like a growl, then unfurled his fingers to reach behind his heavy sac, where the skin was soft and untouched.

Arthur had been beyond words, but now he found the energy to form some. And they were all pleas for Emrys to do more, to give him more, to do  _ something _ to finally satisfy that need he couldn’t name. Emrys would have smiled if Arthur wasn’t using his mouth with so much force. His fingers continued their exploration until he finally reached Arthur’s tight hole.

This would be the tricky part, even though he’d already told Arthur exactly what he was going to do. If Arthur didn’t want to submit to him, Emrys would understand. He wouldn’t press the issue though he felt like he was about to burst and would probably go a little crazy if Arthur pushed him away. He just needed to feel Arthur’s heat once. One time. Just one time. Emrys wasn’t greedy. If Arthur let him have that, he would never make that sort of demand again.

Emrys slowly worked his finger past the ring of muscle, twisting and pushing gently until he was buried to the first knuckle. Arthur’s rhythm slowed for just a second—just until Emrys had his finger completely inside of him. He didn’t do anything for a long time so Arthur could get used to the pressure. When Arthur pushed his hips back, like he was more concerned with what was going on behind him than in front of him, Emrys slowly worked in a second finger.

There was a twinge in the back of his mind, concern, fear that he shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe he was wrong and Arthur didn’t belong to him at all. But it didn’t amount to anything more than a slight diversion. Because the fortuneteller had been right when she read Arthur’s stars. His fate was written across the sky in brilliant colors, and you didn’t have to have any particular powers to see it. His throne, his kingdom, would be secure because Emrys would lay it at his feet. He would give Arthur the world if Arthur asked it of him. He would give him the fey realm. He would give him all the treasures in the heavens. But first, Arthur needed to give Emrys one thing.

How could it be wrong to take it when Arthur had been saving it for him?

“Emrys, I can’t…take this…I can’t…”

Emrys carefully added a third finger, using magic to ease the way. He wasn’t going to hurt Arthur. Arthur wouldn’t feel a moment of pain. Not because of Emrys. Never because of Emrys. Arthur’s hips slammed forward, and he exploded a second time, and Emrys didn’t lose a drop of his essence. He felt the tremors race through Arthur’s muscles and didn’t need to be told his muscles were going to fail him soon. He pulled his hand free and let Arthur’s cock side from his mouth.

Emrys sat back on his heels and watched with a slight smile as Arthur collapsed to his mattress. His eyes were glazed and his mouth was half-open and Emrys congratulated himself on a job well done.

“I didn’t know…” Arthur’s attention drifted down Emrys’s body and he frowned. “You haven’t…”

“Not yet, but I will. Lie down.”

Arthur blinked and then obeyed, falling backward and splaying his legs. Emrys pushed himself to his feet and gazed down on the form spread before him like an offering. Mortals had once made offerings of virgins to him, back when the drums of war pounded in his blood and he hadn’t known any better. It was so long ago now, Emrys chose not to remember it. The bodies that he had taken in the darkest part of the night were just shadows in his memory. But he still knew none of them had been as magnificent as Arthur. If  _ he _ had been one of the offerings, Emrys would have dragged Arthur into the fey realm, would have made him immortal and forgotten all about making war.

*          *          *

As Emrys gazed down on him like a predator might look upon trapped prey, Arthur realized he never truly knew the fey who had so quickly pledged his life to Arthur. He knew aspects of Emrys, but he hadn’t truly  _ known _ the wild power that lurked so close to the surface. He’d been given glimpses of that wildness, but this was something far beyond anything Arthur had seen, or even expected. He’d seen the sparks and the smoke, but he never expected the wildfire. Arthur felt so small in comparison. He had been such a  _ fool _ to think that Emrys would ever serve anybody, least of all him, and now he was going to pay for that foolishness.

Not that Arthur minded paying that debt. His ears were still ringing from his second climax, and he was already getting hard again. Arthur had never,  _ ever _ experienced anything like the raw pleasure that engulfed him when he felt Emrys’s throat constrict around his shaft. He’d never even imagined such a thing was possible. But there was a world of things Arthur had never imagined and Emrys seemed prepared to show him. Which seemed right. It seemed  _ so right _ . It was so right that Emrys knew exactly how to touch him and where to touch him, like he had somehow designed Arthur’s body for this purpose.

Emrys climbed onto the bed, gently hooking a hand under Arthur’s knee and prompting his leg up and over, opening him up to Emrys’s touch. Emrys settled between his legs, stretching over Arthur’s body, chest touching chest. His mouth was soft when he kissed Arthur, and Arthur didn’t realize he was nervous until Emrys kissed the tension from his frame.

“Don’t be scared,” Emrys murmured. “Everything will be fine.”

Arthur would have killed any other man who implied he was afraid of anything, but he couldn’t do anything except nod. He wasn’t scared. He wouldn’t be scared. Even if the wild power Emrys wielded so easily, so thoughtlessly, should have terrified Arthur to his very core. It was difficult to be afraid of that when Emrys sounded the same as he always did—his voice just a little gruffer—and tasted the same.

After several long, slow kisses, Arthur felt Emrys’s cock nudge against his ass. Emrys reached between them and guided his length so the head was more firmly pressed against his opening. Emrys’s fingers had been startling at first, but Arthur had been so distracted by Emrys’s mouth that he forgot about the discomfort until it was gone, replaced by a strange, dull pleasure. Arthur clung to that memory now as he stared up into Emrys’s dark eyes. They were black again, but Arthur didn’t mention it a second time. It seemed like something he would just have to get used to.

Emrys pushed forward and Arthur knew from the sudden pressure that Emrys had breached the tight ring. But there was no pain and no discomfort. Arthur’s eyes widened as a jolt of pleasure shot up his spine and only one thought pounded in his mind— _ more.  _ More, more, more. He hooked his legs around Emrys and pulled him forward, unable to articulate what he wanted because he was unable to speak or think or do anything except pull Emrys to him. Emrys smiled at that and Arthur felt himself flushing.

“Why…doesn’t it hurt?” Arthur finally managed seconds or minutes or hours later. Could Emrys affect time? If so, Arthur hoped he held them in this moment for as long as possible.

“Magic.”

“Very useful.”

“Extremely,” Emrys breathed before he began to rock back and forth, as gently as a lake lapping at the shore. At first, Arthur felt a twinge of frustration. He wanted to feel Emrys’s power. He wanted the friction and heat and speed. He wanted Emrys to take him as Emrys had promised to do earlier. But that frustration barely lasted the space of a breath, because there was something magic about the rhythm Emrys found. And the way their skin slid together. And the way Emrys’s breath tickled against his mouth even though Emrys wasn’t quite kissing him.

Emrys’s rhythm wasn’t the result of magic, but it was something primal. It called to something inside of Arthur that he didn’t even know existed, and that something responded to the call with unrestrained enthusiasm. They were as close as two people could be, and Arthur wasn’t surprised to discover that he could feel Emrys’s heart beating. He felt it in Emrys’s lips and in his chest and his cock. It was faster than Arthur’s and harder, more intent somehow. Arthur reached up, looking for something, and knew he found it when Emrys’s fingers slid between his.

“Arthur…Arthur…Arthur…you’re so beautiful.” Then Emrys’s tongue was plunging into his mouth, and Arthur forgot about the world, the room, the bed. They could have been anywhere, they could have been nowhere. Why hadn’t they done this the very moment they met? Surely,  _ surely _ , this is why they’d met in the first place. This was why Emrys had sworn his oath, and why Arthur had demanded it, and why he couldn’t stand the thought of anybody else making any demands on Emrys.

Emrys never quickened his rhythm, and eventually something odd happened. Arthur really did lose his ability to sense the rest of the world. His vision began to blur and then gray out and then everything went completely dark. He knew he wasn’t unconscious, wasn’t dreaming, knew there was nothing to be afraid of. It felt like Emrys had simply wrapped a great black curtain around the bed, shutting out every hint of light and leaving nothing for Arthur to cling to except Emrys’s body and the great waves of pleasure building and building and building with each thrust before they crashed through him.

“That’s it,” Emrys whispered, and the words flared in the darkness. Arthur stared at the golden streaks they left behind, stunned that he could see it so clearly.  _ Magic, magic, this is magic _ . But it was beautiful, too. “That’s it, Arthur. So close. So close now.”

Arthur realized he was close. His cock was trapped between their bodies, and Emrys’s stomach rubbed against the most sensitive part, just below his slit. The pressure inside of him and above him and behind his eyes and under his skin all became too much to withstand.

“Emrys, I’m…” It didn’t work. It didn’t sound right. It didn’t make golden lights erupt in front of Arthur’s eyes. “Emrys.  _ Emrys _ .”

And then there was nothing but light and colors and Emrys’s mouth pressed to his. His arms and legs tightened around Emrys, pulling him closer as the waves finally swallowed him whole.


	12. Chapter 12

Arthur didn’t call on Guinevere the next afternoon. Instead, he invited Emrys to go on a long ride with him through the north forest. Officially, they were scouting for an upcoming hunt, searching for fresh tracks and signs that the deer had begun their migration through the area. But Arthur didn’t care about tracking game, and that task was promptly forgotten as they left the castle walls behind. Arthur was more interested in watching Emrys, especially since he could do so without fear of being caught. It felt like Arthur had already lost too much time, averting his eyes or redirecting his attention to avoid notice when he would have rather continued gazing at Emrys. He did hope this would be a short-lived impulse, otherwise he would never get anything done and Camelot would fall into shambles.

Emrys looked over every once in awhile and met Arthur’s stare with a smile and a questioning arch of his brow. Arthur felt himself responding with a goofy grin and a half-shrug. The goofy grin was completely alien, and it didn’t feel like it truly fit his face. Nothing had ever made him smile like that before, and he might have gone his entire life without ever knowing he was capable of such a thing if he’d never met Emrys.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?”

“I’m the prince. So, no.”

“It’s not acceptable to be rude just because you’re a prince,” Emrys pointed out.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it’s just…I’ve never seen you like this.”

“That’s because I’ve never been like this,” Arthur answered. “It’s not like you said it would be.”

“Because I’ve never been like this, either.”

Arthur blinked, surprised by the revelation. He believed Emrys because he couldn’t think of any reason for Emrys to lie to him, but it made perfect sense for all of this to be overwhelmingly new to Arthur. He never expected for a second that Emrys would be experiencing anything new. “Not even with Vivienne?”

“Not even with Vivienne.”

“I guess that means you love me the most,” Arthur said lightly.

“I guess it means I do,” Emrys said, before kicking his horse into a run.

“Where are you going?” Arthur shouted after him.

“Come on!”

Arthur immediately urged his horse into a gallop. He could overtake Emrys easily since his horse was far, far superior to Emrys’s, but he was content to hang back and let Emrys lead them across the field and into the trees. The wind carried Emrys’s shout of joy back to him, and Arthur whooped in response, his hair flying up in all directions, his face stinging from the wind and the sun. The horse was powerful beneath him, eating up the ground with its long legs. Arthur felt like they were flying, and he bent low over the horse’s neck, shouting for more speed.

Neither horse slowed until they were deep within the shade of the forest. Emrys was forced to stop first, his horse’s sides heaving. His delighted smile lit his whole face and made his eyes burn. Arthur couldn’t believe something so simple could bring somebody like Emrys so much joy, but he was undeniably happy. Arthur’s heart lifted at the sight of it, and his own goofy grin returned.

“Feel better?” Arthur asked.

“Much. Though I wish I was riding a puka.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “A puka? You’ve ridden one of those?”

“Sure. Several, actually.”

“What is it like?”

“Amazing. Come on.” He clicked his tongue and his mare began walking sedately. Arthur set an easy pace to stay even with Emrys and was content to return to his earlier pastime of watching Emrys. He looked a little different now. It might have been the way his hair stuck to his brow, damp with sweat. Or it might have been the shadows on his face and the way the sun occasionally caught his green eyes.

“Do you like living in the castle?” Arthur asked.

“I’m sure I will when I’m not a servant anymore. Not sleeping in the stables is a big improvement. Why?”

“It just…it doesn’t feel like you belong there.”

“Where do I belong?”

_ At my side. Always _ . “I don’t know. The castle…it used to seem so big when I was a kid. I used to get lost wandering through the halls. I couldn’t believe it was all going to be mine some day. Now it seems so…small. Too small for you.”

“Are you saying you want to build me a palace?” Emrys asked.

Arthur considered the question for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I think I do.”

Emrys laughed. “You don’t have to build me a palace, Arthur. You don’t have to build anything for me.”

“I want to. I want to  _ do _ something.”

“Build me a kingdom, then. The best kingdom this land has ever seen.”

Arthur tilted his head. “I think I can do that. Though I don’t know where to start.”

“You’ve already started,” Emrys said softly. “You’ve got a good foundation.”

“You were a prince, you said. Don’t you miss having your own kingdom?”

“Not at all. I don’t regret the choice I made, Arthur, and I’ll make it every day for the rest of my life.”

Emrys’s words were matter-of-fact, his tone one of flat truth. Emrys at his most reasonable, his most even. Arthur liked that side of Emrys just fine—especially when his reasonable tone was cooling Arthur’s more fiery temper—but he missed the wildness from the night before. He missed the look in Emrys’s eyes that said he was  _ thisclose _ to losing control, and Arthur liked the way Emrys had attacked him like a wolf falling on its prey. He liked to see that he wasn’t the only one with passions just below the surface, and he liked that Emrys couldn’t always be in perfect control.

His cock swelled at the memory, and Arthur realized that it was very, very uncomfortable to be stuck on a horse with an erection.

“Do you mind if we take a little rest?” Arthur asked, trying to make it sound like it made no difference to him either way.

“Already? I thought you had better stamina than that.”

“It’s not my stamina I’m worried about.”

Emrys smiled. “Of course I don’t mind. You’re the prince, after all. I thought that meant you would be informing me of breaks.”

“Good point. Emrys, I insist we stop right now.”

Emrys pulled his horse to a halt. “Anything else, sire?”

“Dismount,” Arthur ordered.

Emrys swung his leg over and slid off the horse, looping the reins over a nearby branch. Arthur smiled and followed suit. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Emrys was there, hands curling in his shirt. A second later, he felt rough bark at his back as Emrys claimed his mouth. Arthur sighed and wrapped his arms around Emrys, relieved that he no longer had to pretend he was interested in anything else. He had a hard time believing he would ever care about anything as much as he cared about the texture of Emrys’s mouth.

Arthur wasn’t sure how or why, but he was certain Emrys tasted better—sweeter, somehow. Perhaps it was the fresh air or the scent of the trees and sunshine. Or maybe it was just the bliss already speeding through Arthur’s veins, infecting his blood. Emrys kissed him without restraint, and Arthur was gratified to realize that the night before hadn’t been some fluke. He was even more gratified to know that this wasn’t one-sided. Emrys really did want Arthur as much as Arthur wanted him. His desire was desperate and frightening and that morning when he watched Emrys sleep, he’d felt a little sick with it. Like his stomach couldn’t stand to be twisted into any more knots.

Kissing Emrys was almost like gorging on too many wild berries. When he was younger, he’d find a ripe patch and stuff his mouth until his tongue and lips were covered in sticky juice and his stomach felt heavy. Then he would eat another handful or two because he really did love the sweetness of it. He loved licking his sticky fingers and smacking his stained lips and whatever discomfort he suffered later had always been worth it. Memories of those lazy summer afternoons—the taste and sound of them—infused his mind as Emrys devoured his mouth.

“Couldn’t get you away from that castle fast enough,” Emrys murmured.

“We don’t have to go back today.”

“We don’t?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I disappeared for a little while.” His hand went to Emrys’s hip. “Nobody will notice.”

“Good. I want to tie you to this tree and keep you here.”

“Binding me isn’t necessary,” Arthur said, tilting his chin up as Emrys attacked his throat. He felt the sharp points of Emrys’s teeth sink into Adam’s apple, and then Emrys was soothing the bite with his tongue, which sent pleasure spiraling all the way down to his feet. His cock strained against his breeches, and the soft material seemed far too rough on his sensitive flesh. His balls ached, too. And though Emrys had been gentle with him the night before, his backside hurt, too. Not in an unpleasant way. It was almost like he wanted Emrys to tup him again.

“Fun, though.”

Arthur’s hands were suddenly busy. One was finding a way beneath Emrys’s shirt, and the other was between their bodies, his fingers molding over Emrys’s shaft. Emrys groaned, his mouth still attached to Arthur’s neck. He was going to be covered in purple marks—more purple marks. He didn’t exactly remember at what point the night before Emrys had gone crazy with his teeth, but he did notice the evidence of such an attack that morning. His neck and chest and shoulders, and his back for all Arthur knew, were covered in bite marks. Emrys had smiled at him a little sheepishly and made a gesture with his fingers, wiping away the marks like they’d never been there. Now he seemed intent on seeing their return.

“Fun how?”

“I’ll show you sometime.” Emrys closed his fingers around Arthur’s wrist, gripping him tightly but not trying to move Arthur’s hand. “I think you’ll like it. Like the way the ropes cut into your skin and the marks they’ll leave.”

Arthur shuddered. He couldn’t deny he liked the idea, even if he felt more than a little trepidation at the thought of allowing anybody to bind him.

“Yeah,” Emrys said approvingly, “you do like it.” He closed his teeth over the fleshy part of Arthur’s ear and sharp pain lanced through him. His first instinct was to bat Emrys away and escape the pain, but that impulse was almost immediately swallowed up by sharper pleasure. It felt like the pain had a direct connection to his cock, and when Emrys bit him again, the throbbing between his legs only intensified. “You love it.”

Arthur could only grunt. He twisted his fingers in Emrys’s shirt and gasped for breath, the ground suddenly less stable beneath him. He thought of all the bruises and gashes, the sprains and broken bones, the blood. He’d always felt a certain release in combat, whether it was friendly sparring or an actual fight. But he was a little surprised at how close that release was to the pleasure Emrys gave him. And he didn’t know what to make of the fact that Emrys was so fascinated, even enthusiastic, about Arthur’s appreciation for pain.

“What’s on your mind?” Emrys asked, his tongue moving in strange patterns on Arthur’s throat. It almost felt like Emrys was tracing foreign letters. “I can feel you thinking about something.”

“How do you expect me to think about anything when you do that?”

He felt Emrys’s smile. “I don’t. That’s why I’m wondering what could be so important.”

“I’ll tell you later,” Arthur said, gripping Emrys’s shoulder and pushing him backward until it was his shoulders pinned against the tree. Emrys didn’t resist him or push back, and it was in that moment that Arthur realized he could do whatever he wanted to Emrys. Emrys would allow it. Welcome it. Arthur had been more than happy to let Emrys take the lead the night before, overwhelmed and confused by everything.

The first order of business was to get rid of Emrys’s clothes. Arthur loved his body. He loved the jut of his hips, and the smoothness of his skin, and the compact muscles in his arms and thighs. Emrys wasn’t meant to wear clothes. He was clearly meant to run through the forest naked, without any restrictions. Something about that image made Arthur ache, and it was a pain he didn’t want to investigate too closely. Emrys would never truly be unrestricted because he’d always be bound to Arthur. That didn’t seem right.

“Arthur…I want you.” Emrys cupped Arthur’s shaft and gave him a gentle squeeze. “Inside of me. Right here.”

Arthur moaned, every muscle from his throat to his groin tightening in response to Emrys’s touch and his words. Arthur wanted that, too. He couldn’t remember wanting anything more, and the need to get Emrys free of his clothes became even more urgent. His free hand naturally went to the short blade he wore in his belt, but his fingers barely skimmed the handle before he changed his mind. Emrys would not want him slicing at his clothes with a knife.

“Do it,” Emrys said, like he could read Arthur’s mind and knew exactly what he was contemplating. He cupped the back of Arthur’s head with his other hand and leaned in for a hard kiss. “Anything you want, Arthur. Do it.”

Arthur took a half step back and reached for his knife again. Emrys met his eyes in a clear challenge, and Arthur didn’t need any more encouragement. He dragged the tip of the blade down the center of Emrys’s shirt, cutting it away from his body. Emrys’s chest hitched as the cold metal touched his bare skin, and Arthur didn’t want to hurt Emrys, but he did wonder about the way his ruby blood would look against his pale skin. A flick of his wrist, and the laces on Emrys’s pants were severed, allowing the loose breeches to fall from his hips. Arthur replaced the knife and tore at material hanging off Emrys’s body, ripping it away until it was nothing but rags at his feet.

Emrys ran his fingers over Arthur’s laces, and they untied themselves immediately. With the pants no longer a hindrance, Emrys could get his long, hot fingers around Arthur’s shaft. Arthur mimicked him, fisting Emrys’s cock and remembering exactly how it felt to have every inch of his muscle buried in Arthur’s body. He definitely wanted that again, there was no question of that.

They moved at the same time, their mouths crashing together. Arthur pushed closer until Emrys was completely pinned against the tree, rocking his hips, thrusting into Emrys’s hand hungrily. Arthur’s fingers brushed over Emrys’s crown, collecting the fluid there, and he liked that Emrys was already leaking and wet for him.

“I want to know what you’re feeling,” Arthur said breathlessly, twisting his wrist, dragging his palm over the velvety, damp flesh. “Show me?”

Emrys inclined his head and then Arthur felt something slick and hot winding through him, traveling down his body like a sun-baked serpent. It circled his body, writhing in tighter and tighter circles, until a new sort of pleasure settled deep in his flesh. He couldn’t locate it precisely. It was everywhere. It flared with life with every breath and every sigh, and when he tentatively squeezed Emrys’s cock, Arthur’s legs nearly went out.

“Oh…oh…oh…” Arthur kept trying to form words, but nothing more than startled sounds would leave his lips.

Emrys released his hold on Arthur’s shaft and gripped his hip instead, silently giving Arthur the support he needed to stay standing. “Keep doing that,” he whispered, his voice as raw as Arthur felt. “Please. Please, Arthur…”

Arthur nodded frantically, seeking out Emrys’s mouth to stop his own embarrassing moans and pleas. He felt like if he wasn’t careful he’d be sobbing with pleasure soon, like he was about to lose all control of his reactions and Emrys wasn’t even  _ touching _ him. Every time he stroked his hand over Emrys’s length, his abdomen clenched and his balls pulled tighter. He experimented with the rhythm, moving slower and then faster, trying to gauge what Emrys liked the most and marveling at the fact he could feel something so intimate, so impossible. He knew the bark was scraping across Emrys’s back. Knew because he could feel that vague pain mingled with the much stronger pleasure and the overwhelming desire and need.

That  _ need _ surprised Arthur the most. He knew how badly he wanted Emrys, but this was so much greater than what Arthur had experienced. It wasn’t that Emrys wanted him more, it just felt like his want was bigger, somehow. It was the world. Arthur was his world.

“Emrys…oh Emrys…”

“Don’t stop.” Emrys panted. “Don’t…Arthur…Arthur…” He thrust his hips harder, and Arthur responded by tightening his grip, pumping his wrist so hard he wondered if he would hurt Emrys. But if anything, the tight ball of pleasure only glowed brighter, pulsing in response to Arthur’s too-firm grip and each too-hard stroke.

“Emrys, I need to…I need…need you…”

“Yes. Now. Arthur, now, please.”

Arthur almost felt like somebody else was controlling his body, pulling at his limbs like he was nothing but a marionette. He was detached from everything except his sharp-edged lust. It was slicing into him, slicing him open, slicing him apart. He wrapped an arm around Emrys and yanked him off the ground. Emrys’s legs went around his hips and he rocked soundlessly against Arthur, beyond words. Arthur had to release Emrys’s cock so he could guide his own into Emrys’s waiting body.

Arthur thrust into him, shouting as Emrys’s tight walls enclosed him. His muscles were fluttering, clenching and relaxing rapidly, and the pleasure Emrys had sent to him finally became too much for Arthur to bear. It exploded inside of him, filling him from the tips of his hair to his fingernails. He might have reached his peak, too. It was difficult to tell with so many sensations surrounding him and battering him. His cock felt slick when he eased back and thrust forward again, and it might have been his own spending. But he was still as hard as a rock, and he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to pound into Emrys again and again.

Emrys’s mouth was hard and hot and sharp everywhere he touched Arthur, leaving more marks on his throat and his face. Every time he felt the sting of teeth against his thin skin, he slammed into Emrys and felt like he had no self-control at all. Emrys clung to him, as light as a child’s doll, his arms and legs wrapped around Arthur’s trunk, ankles locked together at the small of Arthur’s back, keeping him in place. Arthur braced himself against the tree with one hand, happy to let the rough bark slice into his palm and grind against the scrapes. This was one type of pain that didn’t get lost in the larger cloud of pleasure. It was sharp and exacting and it helped Arthur focus.

Birds fluttered above their heads as their shouts startled them from their resting places. Arthur could sense other animals around them, hearing them scurry deeper into the forest, running from the strange, too-loud sounds. Arthur felt like he must have been screaming even when Emrys’s mouth was pressed to his. And in the back of his head, he heard Emrys say over and over  _ Do it. Anything you want, Arthur _ .

*          *          *

They didn’t talk for a long time afterward. Arthur thought it had something to do with the fact that neither of them were capable of speech. Arthur’s throat was raw and his mouth dry. His muscles were watery, and he had pretty much collapsed where he stood as soon as Emrys disentangled himself. Emrys had chuckled softly and joined him on the forest floor, sleepily curling into Arthur’s side. Was it like that every time? And if so, how was Arthur going to be able to function and cope with ruling an entire kingdom when all he wanted to do was lock himself into a room with Emrys and never leave?

He fell asleep while mulling over the possibility of that, and his dreams were thin and entirely focused around Emrys. He didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke again, the sun was much lower in the sky and Emrys was no longer snuggled against him. After a moment of panic, he realized that Emrys hadn’t gone far. He was only a few feet away, his clothes miraculously mended and on his body again, a small fire burning at his feet. A rabbit hung on a spit above the flames.

“I thought I would set up camp,” Emrys said. “Since I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere tonight.”

“It’s not night yet.”

“I meant since I will not be sitting on a horse anytime in the near future.”

“Why…oh.” Arthur frowned. “I didn’t really hurt you, did I? I should have been more careful.”

Emrys smiled and shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me, but I will be a bit tender for awhile. And this is a nice spot.”

“Where did you get the rabbit?”

Emrys arched his brow and Arthur grimaced. “Okay, sorry, that was a stupid question.”

“After the afternoon you’ve had, you’re allowed a few stupid questions. Most people wouldn’t be thinking too clearly after that.”

“You sound awfully pleased with yourself.”

“I am awfully pleased with myself. I didn’t leave you wanting, did I?”

Arthur quirked his lips. “No, you definitely didn’t do that. I can’t remember the last time I felt so…good.”

Emrys patted the log beside him. “Come sit with me.”

Arthur happily moved to the other side of the fire, sitting with his knees splayed and his hand resting on Emrys’s thigh. The fire popped, sparks catching on the wind and swirling above the fire before fading out of existence. Arthur watched them, still feeling a little bit dazed and wondering when his mind would clear.

“I wanted to talk to you about Guinevere,” Emrys said.

“I don’t want to talk about Guinevere.”

“I know, but there’s something I need to tell you. Something that might help you understand her choices.”

“I don’t care about her choices, Emrys. I don’t care about anything she does.”

“I understand that. But…you’re still going to have to marry her. She’s not going to go away anytime soon. And I think it’s important for you to have all the information. I want to be honest with you, Arthur.”

Arthur frowned. “What is it?”

“Guinevere’s mother was fey.”

“Yes, you already told me that.”

“Her name was Sibley. You’ve spoken with her.”

“What? I don’t remember meeting anybody named Sibley.”

“She didn’t introduce herself before you ordered her death,” Emrys said softly. “She was the first fairy you offered to spare. The first one to decline.”

Arthur knew he was staring at Emrys like a fool with his mouth open and his eyes wide. “Guinevere…knows this?”

Emrys nodded.

“You told her,” Arthur said, knowing the answer, knowing it didn’t need to be a question.

“She asked me if I knew of Sibley’s fate. I told her the truth.”

“That’s why she hates me now,” Arthur said dully. “Why would you do that? Were you trying to undermine me? Or destroy the alliance my father wishes to build?”

“No.” Emrys turned to face Arthur fully and took his hand. “No, it was never anything like that. Never. I told her…I tried to make her understand it wasn’t your fault. It was Morgana’s war and you had done the honorable thing.”

“How could I marry her now?”

“You have to,” Emrys said. “You risk too much if you refuse her now.”

“I  _ saw _ her with another man. I could send her away in disgrace.”

“And Mannix could gather his men and declare war on the crown,” Emrys responded. “To defend the honor of his daughter, if nothing else. Think about this, Arthur. Your ranks are badly depleted. You still need time to recover from the battles with Morgana. Camelot couldn’t withstand a siege right now.”

“Fine, I’ll marry her. But I’m going to send her away. I don’t trust her, Emrys.”

“With time, she may realize…”

“With time?” Arthur asked, incredulous. “What are you saying? That one day we might have a happy union if I just give her enough time to forgive me for killing her mother?”

“No. I’m just saying she may forgive you someday.”

“Her forgiveness means nothing to me. But…thank you for telling me. Anything else?”

“Nothing that I can think of. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know your mother?”

Arthur kicked at the fire half-heartedly, wishing he could just kiss Emrys until he forgot he ever asked a question at all. That might work in the short term, but Emrys would probably remember that he never got an answer and ask him again. “She died when I was still very young.”

“Did she fall ill?”

“Poisoned.”

“What?”

“At least, that’s what everybody believed. They tried to keep it from me, but they couldn’t keep me from the castle gossip. The servants couldn’t stop talking about it. How suspicious her sudden illness was. How jealous…” Arthur paused and took a deep breath. “How jealous the king could be.”

“Oh, Arthur…”

“I’ll probably never know the truth. I try not to think about it but it’s hard. Sometimes, I look at him and I ask myself if he could ever be capable of something so horrible. Sometimes, I have to admit that the answer is yes. He’s fully capable of something like that, and I hate it.”

Emrys touched his back, letting his hand act as a comforting weight between Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“I mostly don’t think about it anymore.”

“Not unless some idiot asks you about it, right?”

Arthur smiled. “You’re not an idiot. And I’m glad you did. I don’t like talking about it, but I don’t want to have any secrets from you, either. Is it my turn to ask a question?”

“Ask whatever you like.”

“You said that you tried to kill Morgana before and that’s why you can’t hold it against me. But…why? Why weren’t you like her? Is it because of Vivienne?”

“No. I was like her once. A long time ago, we ruled both realms together. She was bloodthirsty, but I was more so. We cut great swaths through every people that ever tried to stand against us, and we…I…toyed with them. I told them if they left me offerings, I would look upon them with mercy, but no sacrifice would ever satisfy me. Morgana hadn’t always been the ruler of the fey realm, though hardly anybody remembers that now. Her claim was so absolute, her throne coated with so much blood…”

“What changed?” Arthur asked, struggling to keep his voice even. He wasn’t surprised by these revelations, but he was surprised by how easy it was to imagine Emrys’s reign of terror. “What changed you?”

“We attacked a village one night. It was just the two of us. The village was small and poor, and most of the children had died the previous winter because of illness. We hadn’t planned to go there, but we met a traveler who was going there and invited us to join him. He took us into his home and he fed us and offered us a place to sleep. He was the first to die. And Morgana…nothing could ever satisfy her bloodlust. We destroyed the village.”

Emrys paused and Arthur waited patiently. He knew the terror facing Morgana’s army in full armor with sword in hand and an army at his back. He couldn’t imagine how absolute the terror must have been for those poor villagers.

“I watched her….tear the guts out of a child. She ripped into him like a wild animal and she looked so…so  _ happy _ . Like nothing could bring her so much joy. She was covered in blood. Her hair was dark with it. Her mouth…she was using her teeth and her nails and there was so much fire. Every building was burning, people were screaming, I could barely breathe from the smoke. And she was  _ happy _ . I should have been, too. That’s what I had been born for. That’s what she told me every day. You’re born for this. But in that moment, I recognized she was truly mad. And she needed to be stopped.

“I ran away and she tracked me down. The fourth time I ran away, she imprisoned me and told me she would leave me there until I learned my true place. I never truly escaped her. Sometimes, she’d leave me alone for a few years. Once, she didn’t try to find me for a few decades. But she’d always come back for me.”

“Why didn’t you just kill her?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Because she was your mother?”

Regan looked a bit surprised by the question, and then his face shifted into a deep frown. “No, because…I wasn’t strong enough. I was never strong enough to stop her.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Emrys. I know how strong you are. I can…I can feel it.”

“Yes, but not strong enough.”

“Then how did I kill her?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Emrys.”

“I don’t. When I learned that Sibley was actually married to Lord Mannix, I wondered if she had something to do with it. Maybe she helped you. Maybe you just got lucky. Maybe it was Morgana’s destiny to fall to your sword.”

Arthur stared at the fire, feeling pensive and unsure. Emrys wished he had a better answer than that. He wished he could know for sure that Morgana fell because Arthur truly was the superior fighter. It wasn’t just a matter of pride, though Arthur’s pride was a little wounded at the thought of receiving help. He needed to know he could defend his own kingdom from any threat. The greatest threat to peace was now gone, but there were other enemies to the crown. There would be other wars to fight and battles to win. He needed to know his victory wasn’t a fluke of fate.

“Arthur, I’ll understand if you…”

“What?”

“If this changes things between us.”

“Why would it change anything?”

“Because you don’t trust the fey and you have good reason not to trust me, either. Not with my past.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “But…it’s the past. You’re not like that anymore. I know you aren’t.” He swallowed. “So, I guess I freed you.”

“Yes, you did. You’re my savior.”

“Is that why you love me?” Arthur teased, astonished he felt so comfortable with the words, the sentiment.

Emrys smiled. “It’s one of the reasons. You’re special, Arthur. And your destiny is so bright.”

“My kingdom will be secure for eternity?” Arthur asked, cocking his brow.

“Yes.”

“What? Really?”

Emrys inclined his head. “It never crossed your mind that the fortune teller was talking about me?”

“I…I didn’t think about it. She didn’t mean Camelot, did she?”

“No, I don’t believe she did. But we don’t have to worry about that right now. Camelot is your kingdom in this realm and will continue to be yours as long as you dwell here.”

“And when I no longer dwell here?”

“Then you shall rule over the fey realm,” Emrys said as though there couldn’t be anything more simple.

“But…how?”

“I’ll crown you king of the highest throne, your highness.”

“You can do that?”

“It’s my crown. I can do with it what I wish.”

“You said you were a prince once,” Arthur said slowly.

“And so I was. Until you killed Morgana and I became king.”

“King of the fey,” Arthur whispered, surprised he could even process the words. “I knew…I knew you were more than…but the king? Of all the fey?”

“Every single one. Including Guinevere. She will never make a move against you, no matter what her personal feelings are. She would not wish to cross me. You’ll never die, Arthur. There’s a reason that the fey don’t swear oaths to mortals. Once a fey and a human are bound in this way, nothing can break that oath. Not even death.” Emrys sighed softly. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I didn’t want to tell all of this at once. It’s a lot to process.”

“No, no. I’m glad you told me. I…didn’t know that thing about being immortal now. I didn’t even think…I should have thought about that before asking for your oath.”

“Do you wish you hadn’t?” Emrys asked.

Arthur looked back to the fire, heart twisting at the hint of fear in Emrys’s question. Emrys was afraid of his response, like he had anything to be insecure about. As far as Arthur was concerned, Emrys was the best thing that ever happened to him. Perhaps even his reward for ridding the land of a menace like Morgana.

“I will never regret that decision, Emrys. Never.”

“I never will, either.” Emrys leaned over and kissed Arthur gently. This kiss had a certain quality to it that the others lacked, and after a long moment, Arthur realized what it was. Emrys wasn’t holding anything back from him. There truly were no more secrets between them. He knew this fey, this immortal, this wild, dangerous being. Knew him to his core, as nobody else ever had. Arthur pulled Emrys closer, until he was stretched across Arthur’s lap, warming his legs and pressing against his groin. The kiss continued, unbroken and unhurried.

That night, Emrys stretched Arthur out next to the fire and made love to him. He moved the stars around with the wave of his hand, and he whispered the words of Arthur’s destiny, and he made a thousand promises. Every time he moved away, Arthur reached for him and pulled him closer again. The fire danced and died down, but Arthur never felt the chill of the night. Emrys kept it away with his body and his mouth.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Emrys had never considered himself a particularly jealous man. He actually thought himself to be highly pragmatic, and he’d assured Arthur again and again that his wedding night was something both of them could survive. Arthur clearly was not looking forward to performing his new duties as husband, and Guinevere clearly wasn’t pleased with the idea, either. Emrys had been forced to comfort both of them at different times before and after the ceremony, which was not a position that he ever wanted to be in. But on Arthur’s wedding day, everybody had to deal with something distasteful. There was no reason Emrys should be any different.

The handfasting ceremony was interminable, but Emrys had survived it by watching Arthur. He wore a crown Emrys had never seen before, and his robes were extremely ornate and vibrantly purple. Emrys had wrinkled his nose when he got close enough to smell just what they had used to make the dye so bright, but even that odious scent hadn’t ruined the image Arthur created. He was tall and proud and as beautiful as Emrys had ever seen him. Perhaps one day they would have a ceremony of their own. The thought had been an idle one, but Emrys liked the way it felt. Nobody had ever prompted the desire for anything formal, but Emrys wanted Arthur to be bound to him in every way. He was turning startling possessive.

Mordred was allowed to stand with him during the ceremony, his small hand closed around Emrys’s fingers. He was thriving in the castle, growing quickly due to his regular diet of three meals a day, a safe place to sleep, and constant attention. Even if Emrys hated living in the castle, he would have been happy to see the changes in Mordred and satisfied that his decision had been the right one. His eyes were still too old for his small face, though, and he looked up at Emrys knowingly as they moved to the great hall for the wedding feast.

“You’re sad,” Mordred said softly.

“No. Not quite sad.”

“What’s not quite sad?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Guinevere is very beautiful.”

“She is,” Emrys agreed. “The fairest queen in the land, I’m sure.”

“She’s like me, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Emrys wasn’t sure if Mordred was referring to the fact that Guinevere was half-fairy, the fact that her mother was dead, or the fact that she really didn’t like Arthur. As far as Emrys could tell, Mordred had never fully forgiven Arthur either. The fey could hold grudges for a long, long time. “Perhaps she will offer you an audience if you request to meet her.”

The kitchen servants had spent the past three months preparing for this feast. Emrys had been drafted into service more than once as the big date neared and the work seemed to double and triple no matter how hard everybody worked. There was wild boar and venison and peacocks. There were twenty different kinds of pie and puddings. There were sweetmeats and candied fruit and cake. Wine and ale flowed freely, and there were enough servants positioned around the table to be sure that nobody’s goblet was ever less than half-full. Uther presided over the banquet with a pleased smile. He was the only one at the head table who appeared to be genuinely happy. Mannix was pensive, Guinevere was distracted, and Arthur spent most of the feast staring at Emrys.

Emrys didn’t help matters. He spent most of the feast staring back and wondering if he could try to communicate directly with Arthur’s mind. He’d never done anything like that before, but it seemed like if it were possible at all, it would be possible between the two of them. But none of his attempts were successful, so he was left with staring from afar and mentally rearranging the head table, wishing he could remove Uther and Mannix completely. Arthur would take Uther’s chair, Emrys could take his place beside Arthur, Mordred would sit in the former prince’s chair, and Guinevere would be placed at the end.

Maybe one day. When Arthur was actually king.

Emrys could barely touch his food, though it was all excellently prepared. Partially because he could feel Arthur’s nerves and general unhappiness—two things he hadn’t experienced at all in the past eight weeks. Now those eight weeks seemed like nothing but a very happy dream. He and Arthur had been inseparable. They slept together, they rode together, they ate together, and they were always touching. Something about Arthur was addictive, and Emrys was not in the mood to deny himself. He indulged his addiction, taking Arthur, submitting to Arthur, worshipping him and being worshiped in turn. Emrys had even been tempted to kidnap Arthur and whisk him away to the wilderness to live an idyllic life and forget all about ruling over great kingdoms.

They had been happy. Emrys had never been so happy. Arthur never bored him, never exasperated or frustrated him. They found new delights together on a daily basis, and Emrys knew Arthur’s marriage didn’t necessarily have to change that, but it changed everything. Arthur would never be so carefree again, nor would he ever have that much free time on his hands. Uther had been willing to tolerate it because he’d believed that Arthur was spending all that time with his future queen. This night was going to change everything, and Emrys could only wish that he’d been given more time with Arthur. He felt greedy for it. Just another day. They could do so much with just another day of freedom.

The party would continue until dawn, but at the proper time, the four at the head table stood. At the sight, everybody in the hall burst into applause, and some of the drunker men added shouts and catcalls that bordered on disrespectful. Nearly the entire length of the hall separated them, but Arthur unerringly found Emrys’s eyes, and their gazes locked. Emrys tried to smile, but it felt thin and insincere, so he gave up and merely offered a small, encouraging nod. Then Arthur was turning away, following Uther through the side door and into the corridor that would eventually take them to the bridal chamber.

Emrys would have liked to make his escape at that point, but he was obliged to stay until Mannix returned with the stained sheets. He did not want to witness the visual evidence of Arthur’s time with Guinevere. It was hard enough not to dwell on it. It didn’t do him any good at all to think of Arthur undressing her, to think of him touching her and kissing her and finally sliding into her. Emrys had extracted a promise from Arthur that he would not mistreat Guinevere. She might have been unfaithful to him, she might hate him, and she might not be the one Arthur wanted, but she didn’t deserve to be hurt or frightened on her wedding night. Arthur, who could still vividly recall how nervous he’d been before his first time, had given his word that he would do neither.

For Guinevere’s sake, Emrys hoped Mannix presented stained sheets. For his own sake, he wished Mannix didn’t have to present anything at all.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” Emrys warned as Mordred snagged another piece of pie.

“I like this.”

“Yes, it’s very good. But if you eat too much of it, you’ll be sick.”

“I won’t eat too much,” Mordred promised before filling his mouth with the sweet pastry.

Emrys sipped from his goblet, wishing wine had a stronger effect on him. He would have loved to lose himself to an alcoholic haze. Arthur could have, but Emrys had kept an eye on his consumption over the night, and near as he could tell, he barely finished his first goblet. So they were both going to be stone-cold sober for the night.

“Can I have one more slice?” Mordred asked.

“No, I…” Emrys stopped with a gasp, sudden pain in his stomach stealing his voice. He didn’t understand it. It was like somebody was trying to slice him open from the inside out. Emrys turned away from the table in case he had to vomit, but his half-digested food didn’t seem to be in any danger. In fact, the pain didn’t seem to have a specific source. He felt it in his abdomen, but it didn’t seem to  _ belong _ to him.

“Arthur…”

“Father? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I…” Emrys tried to stand, but the blades under his skin were having none of it. They sliced through him more furiously than before, and his throat began to burn. He had to blink away sudden tears.

“Father?”

“Go to your room,” Emrys finally managed. “Go right now. Don’t stop for anything. You understand?”

Mordred’s eyes were wide but he nodded. “What’s going on?”

“I…I don’t know yet. But I need to know that you’re safe. Run now.”

Mordred abandoned his half-finished pie and fled the hall without looking back. A few people noticed his rapid departure, but they were too distracted by their own drinking to worry about the boy for long. Emrys placed his hand flat on his stomach and forced the pain to dull. He could have made it disappear, but Emrys didn’t want to do that. The pain belonged to Arthur. He would accept it, but he needed to be able to function. He needed to help Arthur.

Emrys didn’t bother running. He was always so careful never to openly break the laws in Camelot, but this was different. This was an emergency. Something was hurting Arthur, and there wasn’t a single law that would stop Emrys from going directly to his side. He disappeared from the great hall in a blink and found himself standing in the middle of the bridal chambers. Uther and Mannix were there, too, summoned by Guinevere’s screams. Guinevere, who was still screaming something about Arthur, half-dressed. Emrys noticed the red stain on the sheets but only for a split second before his attention fell on Arthur’s lax face.

“Arthur.”

Uther and Mannix turned at the sound of Emrys’s voice, and Uther’s face darkened with rage. “What are you doing here?”

Emrys ignored him. “Guinevere, what happened?”

“I don’t know! He passed out. Everything was fine. We were…and then he clutched his stomach and he just…he just sort of fell…”

Emrys pushed both of the men away without touching them. They stumbled back, falling over their own feet, and Emrys was at Arthur’s side immediately. His skin was sallow, and when he lifted one of Arthur’s eyelids, there was no movement, no sign of life at all. Emrys put his ear against Arthur’s chest, and his heartbeat was slow. Sluggish. Each breath was shallow. So shallow that Emrys could barely tell he was breathing at all.

The pain in his stomach.

Poison.

The word unfolded in his mind. Rage unfolded with it, traveling down his spine and branching through his limbs. It was pure and perfect. No softer emotions dulled the sharp, cold edges. He’d been wearing a cloak of humanity, one that he had carefully constructed since he began to defy Morgana. It would be easier to fight for the mortals if he learned to live among them and learned to love them. It would be easier to remember his vow if he shielded his powers from all, including himself. But that cloak fell away and he rose off the ground, more fearsome than Morgana could ever aspire to be.

“Guinevere.” The word boomed from him like thunder, so loud it shook the stone walls. “Did you do this?”

“No, my lord. No.” She was sobbing, her hair in disarray, her face streaked with tears and snot. She looked like a child, like Mordred. “No, I swear it.”

“Who did?”

Nobody had an answer. Emrys reached out and took Guinevere by the throat. Mannix immediately tried to pull Emrys away from his daughter, but as soon as he touched Emrys’s arm, he went flying back to the wall.

“ _ Who did _ ?”

“I…”

“If you don’t speak, I’ll make certain that death is a very, very long time in coming. Do you understand me?”

“Lancelot.”

Emrys dropped Guinevere with a growl of disgust that was drowned out by the sound of every window in the room breaking. The glass shattered outward, flying hundreds of feet with the force of Emrys’s fury.

“BRING HIM TO ME!” Emrys’s demand echoed over the land, traveling all the way to the sea and back. The three in the room stared at him with mouths hanging open, but Emrys wasn’t speaking to them. He was speaking to the wind and the earth and the animals. He was ordering the universe to make a gift of the murderer, and there wasn’t a single creature in existence who wanted to cross him in that moment. There was a thump against the door, like a body had been flung into the wood, and Emrys twisted his hand, yanking the door off its hinge.

Lancelot was there, slumped on the floor, his face ashen and eyes wide with fear. He kicked and tried to pull away as an invisible force dragged him toward the bed. Beneath Emrys, Arthur slept on, oblivious to the rage and chaos around him. He should have been dead. He would have been without Emrys’s assistance. A worthless little stable boy deprived Camelot of the king it always deserved and for what? Jealousy?

Emrys flexed his fingers and Lancelot was lifted into the air, his legs kicking uselessly. He struggled against the hold on his throat, but no matter how much he pulled at the hand he couldn’t see, nothing would break its grip.

“DID YOU DO THIS?”

“Please…please…I…”

“DID YOU DO THIS?”

“I just wanted to save her. I thought we could…”

Nobody would ever know exactly what Lancelot was thinking when he poisoned Arthur’s goblet, because Emrys could no longer contain his wrath within the small vessel of his body. It erupted from him and in the same instant, Lancelot’s body exploded in flames. He screamed terribly as he burned, and a sliver of mercy still existed in Emrys. He couldn’t douse the fire, but he did snap Lancelot’s neck to save him from further agony.

“No…”

Emrys turned black eyes to Guinevere and this time he caught her by the throat. “If you speak one word, I will tear your tongue out. I don’t want to hear your voice again.”

Guinevere nodded frantically, and he eased the pressure on her throat. Emrys lowered himself to the bed, putting an arm under Arthur’s shoulders, and the other under his legs. Feeling the dead weight in his arms brought tears to his eyes again, and he didn’t bother blinking them away. He let them fall in hot trails down his face, watching as they fell on Arthur’s waxen face like raindrops. He cried for the man Arthur could have been. He cried because he knew what he had to do now. He cried because he already missed Arthur so much. He cried because the anger was still burning hot inside of him and there was nobody left to blame, nobody left to kill. Overhead, the stars that lit the path Arthur was meant to walk blinked out one by one. His destiny was over now. His skin was cold to the touch.

He felt Uther’s approach before he heard it, and he whipped his head around, a warning in his black eyes. “I will return, Uther. And when we do, we will discuss the future of your kingdom.”

“I will do no such…”

Emrys shouted and knocked Uther to the floor, pinning him there. “You will do as I say or Camelot will lose a king and a prince tonight.”

“My lord…” Mannix’s tentative voice from across the room. The man had a good sense not to try to approach Emrys. “Please don’t kill Guinevere. This was Lancelot’s doing. Not hers.”

“I have no intention of killing Guinevere.” He could already sense the life inside of her, and so he had no choice but to protect Guinevere’s life with his own. “That will not be her punishment. But I suggest you bid farewell to your daughter. You’ll never see her again.”

Mannix looked stricken, but he of all people had the good sense not to argue with Emrys. He hurried to Guinevere’s side and pulled her into his arms, crying as hopelessly as Emrys had. Emrys carried Arthur to the window and called Blancheflor’s name. The horse, recognizing the voice of her true master, responded immediately. Soon, he heard her hooves clicking against the cobblestones in the courtyard below them.

“Where are you going?” Uther demanded, though he’d lost his imperious tone, and Emrys suspected he would never find it again. “Where are you taking my son?”

“To the fairy mound.”

Uther gasped. “You can’t do that. You’ll kill him.”

“He’s already dead,” Emrys bit out. “As long as he’s in the mortal realm, he’ll live but he’ll never wake. He’ll be like this for eternity, his heart beating as long as I’m alive.”

“But he’ll wake in the fey realm?” Mannix asked.

“Yes.”

“He won’t be safe,” Uther insisted.

“He’ll be safer there than anywhere. Guinevere, get dressed.”

She obeyed immediately, nearly stumbling as the stained bedclothes wrapped around her feet. Breaking free of that, she reached for her dress, struggling to pull it overhead before Mannix helped her into it. Emrys wished she had a dress besides her wedding gown, but there wasn’t time to worry about such trivial things. As soon as she was ready, Emrys transported the three of them to the courtyard and the waiting horse.

Emrys could see the question in her eyes as he gestured for her to mount the horse, but she wisely remembered his order and refrained from voicing it. Once she was settled, Emrys carefully draped Arthur across the mare’s haunches, binding him there with unbreakable bonds. No matter what happened, he would not fall off. Emrys would have preferred to ride with Arthur himself, but Guinevere would never be able to keep up with the pace he intended to set. They needed to reach Devonshire by dawn. Blancheflor was the only horse in Camelot who could hope to make the journey.

Camelot was dark behind them as Emrys led the mare out of the south gate, a shroud of mourning falling on its towers and spires. Even the moon was gone, hiding its face from the wrath of the fairy king.

*          *          *

Emrys stopped periodically to check on Arthur, but his situation never changed. He neither improved nor worsened. He was frozen in time, unresponsive to Emrys’s pleas and caresses, and no amount of Emrys’s magic would pull him away from the brink of death. At least, not in the mortal realm. Arthur needed to be surrounded by magic. He needed to be infused with it. He needed to breathe it and touch it and bathe in it.

He needed to be well again.

Emrys’s mood fluctuated with each passing hour. At some points, he felt perfectly calm. Arthur wasn’t going to  _ die _ . Emrys could save him and eventually everything would be fine. At some points, he was so furious he felt the trees tremble around him and Blancheflor quaked. His anger was infinite. No matter how far into the future he looked, the rage burned on as bright as the sun. And then he would be crying again. Fat, pathetic tears that streamed freely down his face, raining onto the ground. His shirt was wet. When he licked his lips, he tasted salt.

“How did he do it?” Emrys finally asked.

Guinevere’s eyes widened, but her mouth remained tightly closed.

“You may speak now, but only to answer the question. Did you help him?”

“No, sire.”

“Do you remember what I told you about lying?”

“I promise I didn’t know anything about it, sire.”

“Was he at the feast tonight?”

“No, sire.”

“He must have had an accomplice,” Emrys muttered darkly, imagining exactly what he would do with that accomplice—he’d inflict everything he’d been too furious to inflict on Lancelot. “Somebody who had access to Arthur’s goblet. Who was pouring Arthur’s wine?”

“I don’t know, sire.”

“Of course you don’t. It’s your wedding night. You had other things on your mind, didn’t you?”

“Emrys, I swear…”

“Shut up.”

Guinevere fell silent and Emrys touched the side of Arthur’s face. His fury was ebbing once again, and he braced himself for the incoming wave of sadness. He didn’t mind that Guinevere witnessed every tear and heard every soft sob. Emrys only hoped that she felt each one in her heart, that she experienced every second of pain. It didn’t occur to him until much later that she was suffering—but even when it did occur to him, Emrys found he didn’t care about her anguish.

“He didn’t have to die,” Emrys said after another cycle of rage and grief. “Arthur knew about Lancelot. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t have tried to keep you apart. He didn’t have to  _ die _ .”

“Lancelot didn’t have to, either,” Guinevere shot back.

In the next second, Emrys had her off the horse and pinned to the ground, his knee in her chest, his hand around her throat. Blancheflor stomped her foot and snorted, but otherwise, the forest was still.

“What did I tell you about ripping out your tongue?” Emrys pushed his fingers between her lips, forcing her mouth open. “Did you think I was kidding?”

Guinevere shook her head frantically, her eyes nearly glowing with fear.

“Lancelot  _ deserves _ to die a thousand deaths for what he has done. For what he’s deprived the world of. Is the child Arthur’s?”

Guinevere nodded.

“You’re certain?”

She nodded quickly.

Emrys released her tongue and pushed himself to his feet. “Get back on the horse. Don’t mention that bastard’s name again in my presence.”

Guinevere joined Arthur on the horse again. Emrys touched Arthur’s hair, remembering how it felt when it was coated in sunshine.

*          *          *

The fey who’d been trapped in Camelot when Emrys closed the fairy mounds joined them on their journey, silently, respectfully, trailing behind Blancheflor. Emrys acknowledged them as they melted from the surrounding woods, nodding slightly as they bowed in greeting. They didn’t ask any questions about Arthur or where they were going, but they were appropriately solemn. And they were loyal to Emrys. If they had been on Morgana’s side of the struggle, they would have either fallen to Arthur’s knights, or they would have attempted an attack on the prince who felled their queen.

Emrys was strangely pleased to see them. Perhaps it was because he’d never felt so alone. His pain grew with every step, and he feared what he might do under the combined weight of it all. He had grieved for Vivienne, but those brief months, as painful as they’d been at the time, were nothing compared to this. Each second of each minute felt like a year. He could only hope he would have the chance to speak to Arthur once more. He needed to hear Arthur’s voice, but he hoped for more than that. He hoped for a smile. He hoped for a touch and a kiss.

The first of the new arrivals to talk to Emrys was a very old fairy, Gaius. Gaius was so old, he may have remembered the time before Morgana. Emrys respected him, had once even sought shelter with him when Morgana’s vengeance had been particularly brutal.

“Your highness.”

“Gaius.”

“Where will your pilgrimage take you?”

“Devonshire. There is a fairy mound there.”

“What of the fairy mounds in Camelot?”

“I closed them at the request of the crown prince.”

“I see. I hope you don’t find our presence objectionable.”

“I have no objection to anybody who is loyal to me, Gaius. But I will have no tolerance for anybody who is not.”

“I assure you, my lord, all here are loyal to you. Is this young man the prince you spoke of?”

“Yes. He has been poisoned.” Emrys shot a hateful look at Guinevere. “On his wedding night.”

“That is a grievous shame. I heard he was a good man.”

“He still is a good man. He lives. That is why I’m taking him to the fairy mound.”

“Forgive me, sire, but I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to make him king, Gaius. And anybody who opposes that decision will be named an enemy of the throne.”

Gaius was silent for a long moment. Emrys stroked Blancheflor’s face, assuring her through touch that she was a good horse and she was doing well. Finally, the other fairy said, “He is the one the stars spoke of.”

“He is.”

“I’m sorry for your great loss, Emrys. We’re all aware of how dear he is to you.”

Emrys almost felt himself smile at that. “I’m sure the stars went on in great detail.”

“They can’t help themselves, my lord.” Gaius almost sounded like he was smiling as well. “I did admonish them to respect your privacy.”

“You’ve always been a good friend to me.”

“May I ask a question, my lord?”

Emrys nodded.

“Why are you so sad? If it is as you say, then Arthur will be strong in the fey realm. You will have an eternity with him, if that is what you wish.”

“No, I won’t.” Emrys swallowed down the lump of sadness forming in his throat. “I won’t be joining him there.”

“My lord?”

“You must watch him for me, Gaius. You must teach him what he needs to know. The fey realm won’t be easy for him to navigate at first.”

“Of course, I will serve him as I serve you. There’s no question of that.”

“Thank you,” Emrys said softly. It was a small reassurance, but it was appreciated all the same.

*          *          *

By the time they reached Devonshire, it was only an hour from dawn and Emrys’s party had swelled to nearly forty. None but Gaius had the courage to speak to Emrys, but in the gray light, he could see the sadness in their eyes. Some of them had even been crying. If they had lived among the mortals, loving them, marrying them, hoping for peace like them, Arthur would have been their prince, too. Emrys hoped others besides Gaius would follow him back into the fairy mound. It would certainly help Arthur if he had a loyal band of supporters.

Despite Emrys’s eagerness to get to the fairy mound, he did make one small detour. Guinevere gasped when she realized where they were, but she didn’t dare voice her question until the familiar castle came into sight. “Sire? Why have you brought me here?”

“Because this is where you’re going to live until the child is born. I thought you would be pleased.”

“I do not understand.”

Emrys took her hand and assisted her off the horse. “It’s quite simple. You will remain a prisoner here until the child is born. Once that happens, I will take the child back to Camelot.”

“What will become of me?” Guinevere asked, bottom lip trembling.

“Are you afraid for your life, Guinevere? Don’t be. One day, you will be asked to repay the debt you owe this world. I wouldn’t dream of ending your life before that day comes. When I take the child, you will be banished to the fey realm. There you will be Arthur’s responsibility. How he punishes you is up to him, if he chooses to punish you at all.”

Emrys saw her safely deposited in her private chambers. The servants were clearly shocked to see their mistress returned to them on the day after her wedding, but Emrys decided to leave the explanations to her.

“If you try to leave, I will know.”

“I understand, sire.”

“Your father will not be joining you.”

It was cruel, and judging by the sudden moisture in her eyes, she recognized the gesture for what it was. “Yes, my lord.”

Emrys sighed. “Guinevere…”

“I’m so sorry. I wish…I never intended for any of this to happen. I just…needed…I don’t hate him.”

“I believe you’re sorry. I’ll return at the quickening.”

He left her crying on her bed, his heart hardened to her tears.

*          *          *

They reached the fairy mound at dawn. Emrys led the procession to the door, Arthur heavy in his arms. He held Arthur up to the first rays of the sun, wishing Arthur could be awake for his final view of the human realm. The sun slanted across his features, and Emrys bent his head to kiss his lips softly. He would kiss him again on the other side of the door, but it wouldn’t be the same. Not ever quite the same.

Gaius opened the door for Emrys, bowing as Emrys stepped over the threshold and returned to the kingdom he had once renounced.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur knew Emrys was there before he opened his eyes. After spending nearly every waking and sleeping moment with the fey, Arthur recognized his scent and the rhythm of his breathing—which was usually a little bit faster than a human’s. But Arthur’s senses failed him in every other respect. He couldn’t say where he was or even when he was. Not even after he opened his eyes. The sky was the wrong shade and barely seemed like the sky at all. None of the colors were quite right, and when he turned his head to study the area around him, the landscape wasn’t right.

“Emrys?”

Emrys leaned over him, his smile filling his line of vision. “There you are, my prince.”

“Here I am.” Arthur coughed and tried to lift his head more, but sudden pain behind his eyes pinned him to the ground again. “Where is that, exactly?”

“Welcome to the realm of the fey.”

Arthur blinked. “Really? I thought you said I couldn’t be here.”

“I did say that. But things are different now. Are you thirsty?”

Arthur licked his lips, realizing for the first time how dry they were, and how thick his tongue felt. He nodded, and was surprised when Emrys carefully lifted Arthur’s head from the ground and let it rest on his thigh. Once Arthur was propped up, Emrys touched a cup to his lips. Except, it wasn’t like any goblet Arthur had ever seen. It was softer, smoother. It reminded Arthur of a flower petal.

“What’s different now?” Arthur asked after Emrys took the cup away. A few drops of the sweet water rolled down his chin, cooling his skin.

“Everything, Arthur.”

Arthur exhaled slowly. “What happened to me?”

“Guinevere’s stable boy. In his blind jealousy, he conspired with another servant to have your wine poisoned. I don’t know what he used, exactly, but it’s fatal.”

“What…if it’s fatal, why are we still talking?”

“Because you made me swear my life to you. I told you that even death can’t break a fey’s word, didn’t I? As long as I live, you will, too. But you have to live here.”

“Here as in the fey realm? Why does it make a difference?”

“There’s not enough magic to sustain you in the mortal realm. You would just be unconscious, never waking, barely breathing. At least here, you’ll have some sort of life.”

Arthur sat up slowly, ignoring the pain in his head and stomach. It must have been a side-effect of being poisoned and nearly dying. But Arthur had a feeling that this was a mere tickle compared to whatever Emrys was clearly keeping from him. Pain was written all over Emrys’s face, and he had a pinched look around his mouth.

“What sort of life, Emrys?”

“A good one.” Now he tried to smile, but he couldn’t quite get rid of that pinched look. His smile looked more like a grimace. “You’ll have a really good life, Arthur. You’ll be the king you were meant to be.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Arthur asked, hoping that his guess was wrong. He hadn’t missed the way Emrys kept saying _you_ instead of _we_.

“Arthur…I’m sorry.”

“ _What_ is it?” Now Arthur was just scared, and that fear made his voice hard. Emrys didn’t just sound sorry, he looked miserable. Arthur wanted to find whoever made Emrys look that way and tear out their hearts.

“I can’t stay here with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If we both stay in the mortal realm, you will be in sort of sleeping death. But I cannot stay with you in the fey realm for the same reason you’re alive.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed and the fear in his chest only grew. The answer was dancing right in front of him, but Arthur turned his mind away from the obvious conclusion. He couldn’t acknowledge it. He couldn’t say it, because if he did, it would be too real and Emrys would leave him. What was he supposed to do without Emrys? He couldn’t even stand it when Emrys was out of reach. The wedding banquet had been an exercise in torture, as he could see Emrys but couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t touch him. How was he supposed to _live_ without Emrys?

“Emrys…”

“I can’t stay here, Arthur.”

“Don’t say that. Please.”

“I made a promise to you. I swore to you that I would protect your kingdom for as long as my children and their children live. I must live by that oath.”

Arthur shook his head frantically. “I free you of those obligations.”

“You can’t.” Emrys wiped his face with the back of his hand, and Arthur’s heart hurt. “And if you could, you would be dead as soon as you spoke the words."

“How long? How long until you can come back?”

“I don’t know. As long as I have descendants. And as long as Camelot exists, so as long as your descendants live.”

“I have no descendants!” Arthur said triumphantly.

“Guinevere is with child. It may be yours. As soon as she drops it, I’ll tend to the child and bring Guinevere here. The magic that is keeping you alive will do the same for her.”

“I don’t understand. Why do we want to keep her alive?”

“So she can redeem herself. She owes a debt now. One day, she’ll be able to pay that debt.” It wasn't kindness that spared Guinevere's life. She would suffer through every day without her love, never released from the bonds of life, chained forever to her misery. 

“Emrys…” Arthur cupped Emrys’s cheek and felt the tears under his fingers. Tears. Emrys was crying and that made everything so much worse. So terrible and real and Arthur felt answering tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Please don’t leave me. Please.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Emrys slid his hand over Arthur’s shoulder and settled his palm on the back of Arthur’s neck. The weight of his touch was comforting, but all too fleeting. Arthur knew Emrys would pull away from him, no matter how much he begged or even cried for him not to go. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…if I knew, I would have stopped it. I never would have let anything happen to you. Your destiny was so bright.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s my fault.” Arthur rested his forehead against Emrys’s and struggled to take a breath. The physical pain was forgotten, but his heart was breaking. “I should have done something. I should have sent her away or sent him away or…I should have done something.”

“I’m going to make you king before I go,” Emrys whispered. “But I need to balance this. I’m going to make Mordred heir to your father’s throne.”

“I don’t think Father would ever agree to that.”

“He’s not going to have a choice. As long as somebody with fairy blood is ruling Camelot, the balance between the two kingdoms will be maintained and there won’t be any more war. It’s the best I can do.”

Arthur couldn’t resist Emrys for another moment. He cradled the back of his head, holding him as he claimed Emrys’s mouth. The kiss was slick and tasted heavily of salt, as though tears coated Emrys’s lips. Or maybe the salt was from Arthur’s tears. Arthur knew no words would be enough to sway Emrys, so he tried to use his mouth instead. He poured his soul into the kiss, trying to convey just how deeply his love went, feeling like a child pleading with an indifferent God for mercy. He knew it wasn’t Emrys’s fault, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Emrys responded with the same level of intensity, and they rose on their knees, their chests pressed together, their arms locking around each other. They strained for every inch, words forgotten as they sought more bare skin, more contact, more assurances that everything was going to be fine. Somehow. Someday. Arthur felt like a drowning man who could see the sun through the shifting surface of the water, but no matter how he reached for it, he was always short, dragged back down to the dark abyss. When he stopped kissing Emrys, Emrys would leave him. So he simply couldn’t stop kissing him.

They fell to the grass, and it wasn’t grass, but it was close enough, Arthur pinning Emrys’s body to the ground. Emrys pawed at his clothes, and there was a flurry of movement as they both did their best to strip away the inconvenient barriers. Arthur managed to unlace his pants and push them halfway down his legs without lifting his head from the kiss. Emrys moaned beneath him, kicking his legs and twisting until his breeches were down around his ankles.

“Arthur…please…”

It was still amazing to Arthur that he could reduce somebody as powerful as Emrys to pleading with him. Almost begging. How could he have so much power over a fey? How could anybody, fey or not, need Arthur as much as Emrys claimed to? It was utterly impossible, but Emrys was twisting beneath him, writhing and moaning. Their mouths touched and broke away and sealed together again, each kiss rough and sloppy. Arthur was hard, desperate, but his need had nothing to do with _pleasure_. Physically, he was numb. He just wanted to be close to Emrys. He just wanted to be sure that Emrys stayed with him for a few more minutes.

Emrys wrapped his arm around Arthur’s back and put his other hand on Arthur’s hip. His legs looped around Arthur’s knees, and he arched his back in silent encouragement. It was easy to slide into Emrys’s waiting body, and the heat momentarily burned away the pain and the fear, obliterating it. It was always like that when he was with Emrys. Nothing mattered but the two of them, and they fell into each other, crashing and scrambling for a hold, nails and teeth and sharp moans.

 _::Don’t leave,::_ Arthur pleaded with each solid thrust. _::Don’t leave me. I can barely remember a life without you and I don’t want to know one.::_

 _::I’m sorry,::_ Emrys said with his eyes and his mouth and every touch. _::I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so, so sorry.::_

When Arthur couldn’t take it anymore, he buried his face in Emrys’s neck and inhaled the wild scent of his skin. He was afraid that one day he’d forget Emrys’s scent and taste. Or the texture of his skin. Or the way he felt when he was slick with sweat and flushed with desire. He bit at Emrys’s skin, sinking his teeth into the flesh, frustrated by some unnamable desire for _more_. More what, Arthur couldn’t say. Only that he felt the lack in the middle of his stomach, like a great hole that could never be filled.

Arthur’s rhythm was shaky and hard. Each time he thrust into Emrys, Emrys tightened around him, his entire body clamping down on Arthur’s. He’d hold Arthur like that, his thin frame shaking like a leaf in the wind, then gradually relax and allow Arthur to pull back. Arthur could only stand to lose a few inches of Emrys’s heat before he was slamming home again, burying himself to the base, his balls brushing against Emrys’s warm skin.

There were things Arthur had intended to tell Emrys. There were thoughts and dreams and hopes he’d never mentioned before because they were supposed to have a lifetime together. How was he supposed to know that they would only have two months? How he was supposed to know that he needed to say everything he ever intended to say to his lover? How was he supposed to know he needed to get his fill of kisses and slow touches and soft whimpers? How were either one of them to know that destiny could be so easily thwarted?

The world began to reorder itself around them, but Arthur barely noticed. His full attention was focused on Emrys, and he was more interested in kissing every inch of Emrys’s face and biting his bottom lip and sucking on his ear. But eventually he realized that the ground beneath him had shifted from grass to something like marble. Emrys didn’t seem to mind that he no longer had the soft, forgiving earth beneath him. His body slid over the smooth marble with each thrust, and then he pushed back, pushed himself onto Arthur’s cock.

Arthur wanted to continue like that indefinitely. He wanted to drive himself into Emrys’s body forever. He wanted the heat of Emrys’s body and the amazing pressure around his flesh. More than that, he wanted to share Emrys’s breath and echo his moans until the two of them were nothing but dust in time. But he was only human, and all too soon the pleasure was building, spreading up his spine and down into chest and wrapping around his throat.

He shouted when he reached the point of no return, shattering in Emrys’s arms. Emrys only tightened his hold, keeping him in one piece and whole. Arthur felt something damp and warm on his cheeks and realized he was crying again. He hated that. He wasn’t a girl, and his emotions were never this close to the surface. But there was so much regret and loss in his body. And not just for Emrys. He already missed his kingdom, his home, even his father. He missed knowing where he belonged in the world. And he missed Camelot. He had things to _do_. He was going to rebuild Camelot, going to be the king who brought the land into its first era of true peace. Didn’t the universe understand that? Couldn’t Emrys fix it so Arthur could accomplish the tasks he’d always been meant for?

“Arthur.”

Arthur dropped his head on Emrys’s shoulder and let the floodgates open. He cried for the world he’d lost, for the life that no longer belonged to him, for the love he had to release, for the wife who betrayed him, for the child he’d never know. He cried because his heart was breaking, and even though his body still drew breath and his heart still hammered against his ribs, life as he knew it was well and truly over.

Emrys held him, stroking his head patiently, whispering soft reassurances. Arthur lost track of time and then realized time was a relative term. It passed differently in the fey realm. But Emrys never pushed him away and didn’t try to tell him any lies.

Finally, Arthur felt like all his tears had been wrung from him. He lifted his head from Emrys’s shoulder and kissed him once, sweetly, then slowly pulled away from Emrys. Emrys let him go, watching him with solemn eyes as Arthur dealt with his clothes.

“Where are we?” Arthur asked when he could trust his voice again. His words were thin and rough.

“Your palace, my lord.”

And it was a palace unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. They were in the throne room, and the throne itself was imposing and ornate, made of carefully carved gold and inlaid with jewels. The crown resting on the throne was no less impressive, and Arthur doubted he could wear something that looked so obviously heavy. The ceiling was high overhead, and the windows were tall, allowing sunlight and starlight and a light Arthur couldn’t name to flood the large chamber.

Emrys stood as well and pulled his pants up. “Do you like it? The crown is a little ostentatious, but you wouldn’t have to wear it all the time.”

“I can’t rule here, Emrys.”

“Why not?”

“Because the fey hate me.”

“You already killed almost all the fey who hate you,” Emrys pointed out. “Besides, you have friends here.”

“What friends?”

“One moment.” Emrys crossed to the other side of the huge room and pulled the massive doors open. A small band of fey waited on the other side, a very old man in the front. He looked like he was as old as time, and Arthur felt a strange impulse to drop to his knee and bow his head in respect. “This is Gaius. Gaius, King Arthur.”

“I’m not…”

“You are, your majesty,” Gaius corrected gently, bowing before he entered the throne room. “And I am your loyal subject. As we all are.”

“Who…are you?” Arthur asked, looking over Gaius’s shoulder.

“These are all fey who have been living in Camelot as your loyal subjects. They already recognize you as their prince, and they have agreed to stay in this realm with you. You’ll need friends,” Emrys said. “Gaius will act as your advisor.”

“How am I supposed to be their king when I don’t even have any magic?”

“You are acting king while I am away. The realm will obey me, and now I have ordered it to obey your will as well. You’re not going to be powerless here.” Emrys touched Arthur’s arm. “Trust me. This is a safe place for you. Nobody will try to usurp you and take the crown.”

“So that’s it then? There’s nothing left to argue?”

“That’s it,” Emrys agreed softly.

“When am I going to see you again?”

“I’ll come back when I can. It won’t be what we both want, but it’ll be better than nothing. And I’ll make sure that Camelot thrives, Arthur. I’ll love the kingdom as I love you.”

Arthur swallowed. “Do you really have to go?”

“I do. I need to get back and there’s still a great deal to be done.”

“But what am I supposed to _do_ here, Emrys? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Emrys touched Arthur’s cheek with infinite kindness. “You can do anything you wish. Gaius is very old and he’s very wise. Be his student. Let him be your master, and you will learn everything you need to.”

“I want _you_ to be my master.”

Emrys kissed Arthur tenderly. “I’ll never stop loving you. And if you’re lonely…”

“Don’t,” Arthur bit out.

“I’m just saying…”

“Don’t say it. There’s nobody except you, Emrys. There will never be anybody except you. You once told me that I’m yours. That hasn’t changed.”

“As I’m yours.” Emrys kissed him again. “Goodbye, my king.”

Emrys left Arthur standing in the middle of a great and empty room. The physical pain returned and Arthur shuffled to his throne, feeling as though everything else had been lost. There was nothing except the dull ache in his chest and the cold metal of the crown. He held that crown between numb fingers, refusing to put it on as the light faded from the windows.

THE END  



End file.
